


Abnormal

by Papillonn



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Character Death, Drama, Emotional Baggage, F/M, Fire, Friends to Lovers, Help, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Slow Build, Strangers to Lovers, Surgeons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:57:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2144751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papillonn/pseuds/Papillonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiona Boe is a pediatric surgeon living in London. Fi has a secret disorder that cripples her ability to have relationships with others. When her best friend's brother appears in her life, he attempts to coax her out of her shell, and help her learn to love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> May be a trigger for some readers.

2:17 a.m.

Shit.

I’ve made the commitment last week with Baker that I wouldn’t do this anymore. My body can’t take it and neither can my career. Doctors needed rest. Still, I was undeterred as my feet swung from the bed and sounded a soft thud on the freezing floor. I didn’t have matching socks. No matching socks meant cold feet.

It doesn’t have to, my subconscious chimes in. I swear that Baker pays her to say those things. 

Still, I am up and headed into the kitchen. I need to check to make sure everything is still off. Gas; check. Sink; check. Lights; check. Toaster; check. Waffle iron; check.

Good. Everything is off. 

I glance at the clock just above the microwave. 2:20. Three minutes. I’m impressed with myself. I should tell Baker about this. He’ll be disappointed that I haven’t stopped these rituals, but he’d be proud that I am getting them done faster. 

I climb back into bed and the soft down comforts me incredibly. The smell of my detergent reminds of a masculine presence. It’s refreshing and makes me feel safe. It keeps me warm. My eyes close and within the next ten minutes, I am out again. 

2:37 a.m.

What if I am not getting better? What if I have just gotten sloppy?

Tears quickly well up in my eyes as a looming cloud one of self-loathing washes over me in droves. Gone is the lighthearted attitude and back is my firm desire to make sure that everything in the house is off. Not just the kitchen, yet I go over that again, but this time the entire house must be swept over very carefully. I can’t slack on this. That’s what’s going to get me killed.

That’s what got her killed.

8:52 a.m., Central London

Benny’s always makes me feel better after a long night. I’m a regular at the coffee shop after living here for four years. Americana in London. Benny, the owner, loves me and tries to give me free coffee nearly every morning. His grandson Lou works on the weekends and bats his teenaged eyelashes at me while promising a fresh scone as soon as the oven sounded. 

This morning I stow away in a nook clutching a black coffee, wincing at the bitter taste, hoping to somehow punish myself for my behavior this morning. I’m so angry for all of the progress that has been wiped out after just a single night. Why couldn’t I have just fallen asleep? Why do my thoughts work so differently than everyone else? My stomach curls just thinking about it. 

You’re not like everyone else, Fi, my subconscious chimes in helpfully. I’m not… I know this. Baker has told me this a thousand times before as I’ve wept into Kleenex begging for a magic pill to make me normal. But one doesn’t exist, and I am going to have to try harder.

“Fionnnna,” the welcoming sound of my friend’s voice snaps me out of my daze. I glance up at the beautiful blonde that has just entered Benny’s, stowing sunglasses in a large purse and kind blue eyes straining to find me in the café. 

“Hey, Em,” I greet with a crinkly smile. Emma is one of my best friend’s in London. I met her when she sprained her ankle and ended up as one of my patients after the peds department became back up for the swamped ER. She was a theater actress and after a couple coffees, I decided that I trusted the kind Emma. 

She knew my secrets. 

“You look tired… is everything ok?”

‘Charmer,’ my subconscious smirks. 

“I didn’t sleep very well last night… you know how it is,” I explain, brushing off anything that might cause us to get too deep. It’s far too early and I am due at the hospital in two hours. Emma is very accepting of my thing. That’s what we call it…my thing. Sometimes I wonder if she knows just how deep it runs. Probably not. No one does…not even me.

“How have you been?” I ask brightly, trying to change the subject.

“Brilliant. I’ve got two call backs and mum is visiting…”

“How is Diana?”

“Harping at Reg and me…” Emma roles her eyes, “she’s 18th century. I fucking swear that’s where Tom gets it.”

“How is he?”

Despite knowing Emma for nearly two years, I’ve only met her famous brother once and very briefly at that. He was very brisk and Emma said that his newly found fame was getting to him. I secretly think that Hiddleston is an arrogant bastard, but I keep that to myself because Emma adores him. 

“He’s tired,” she said, “he’s in the middle of dealing with realtors trying to get this property… it’s rank, Fi. He’s got famous neighbors,”

Pretentious bastard, subconscious Fi mutters.

“Oh,” Is all I manage. After my night, I don’t really want to talk about Tom and his famous neighbors. I only inquired out of courtesy. 

“Are you sure that you’re alright? You look a little peaky.”

“I didn’t sleep much. Besides… I am always peaky,”

It’s true. I fit in perfectly with the rest of the English roses here in London. Despite being from Pennsylvania, and taking trips to the beach nearly every weekend, I am pale. A dark bob only accentuates it. The only thing different about me is my eyes. Dark in certain lights and warm in others.

Emma concedes and as Victoria, one of the permanent girls that works here, brings over the Emma special—it’s basically a latte with a bunch of strange add-ons. She orders it every time we meet here. I‘ve sipped it once and it is disgusting. 

“I think mum would love to see you. It’s been a while and she’s anxious. She called you her grafted daughter,” Emma sniggers and I swoon. It is nice to know that someone looks after me in a paternal sense. Diana is a lovely and beautiful woman, too.

“How long will she be here?”

“Over the weekend. Let’s plan for a dinner on Saturday.”

“Ok.”

The moment I step through the door of my office, my pager sounds. I hardly have time to suit up properly before I am whisked away into an emergency surgery. That’s life. 

For some odd reason that Baker is always trying to explain, I find solace within the walls of the OR. It’s my domain and I am totally in charge of destiny here. What my hands have been crafted to do and what my brain has learned… it all serves greater purpose here in the OR.

In that room, I have no fears. I’m at one with my skill and my mind is solely focused on the task at hand—not stove burners or matching socks. My anxiety quells and I am normal. Abnormally normal.


	2. Chapter 2

In Baker’s office later that afternoon, I carefully explain in great detail what occurred last night, or early this morning. He knows me well, and knows that if he watches my eyes then I will freeze up, so instead, he scribbles notes in his books and looks up occasionally to validate my words. I love Baker for the single reason that he listen with zero inhibition. Even my dear Emma has not mastered that skill. I cannot fault her for that, though, because my kind are a special group of individuals and most of the world has no idea how to care for us. To the world, I am a passing phrase commonly used to sneer at petty things.

OCD.  
Emma cried when I first told her. I had reservations about going certain places with her, and my meticulous behaviors had caused me to believe that she would shun me for them. After going into a two weeklong depression over the lost friendship, she showed up at my door and demanded answers. I was weak then, and everything sort of came out like word vomit. She failed to laugh or sneer. Though she couldn’t possibly understand, she did sympathize, and now I am Fiona, her best friend. 

“…Fi… you’re out again,” Baker shakes me back into the present and my eyes snap back to him. Has he cut his hair?

“Sorry… I’m distracted,”

“By what?”

“Emma. I was ashamed of myself this morning and that doesn’t generally happen around her. Do you think I am getting worse?”

Baker leans back in his chair and it croaks loudly and makes me uncomfortable.

“No…I think that you are getting better…so better, that little blips have you flustered and shy. It’s a good thing.” He winks and my heart feels a little warm. I love Baker. He has been my savior for these four years here in England. He understands what I am going through and has helped me tremendously. There was a time when I wouldn’t leave my apartment ever. Now I operate with a normal life and I thank Baker for that. 

“Really?”

There is so much hope in my voice. Tiny tears sparkle in my eyes. I am so happy all of a sudden. Socks don’t seem to matter so greatly. 

“Really.”

That night, I have drinks with a guy that I work with. He works in orthopedics and has tried to get me out for a drink or date for the past two years. His name is Allan and he has dark hair and green eyes. He is cute, but intense. I silently pray the entire time we are sitting at the bar that he doesn’t try to touch me. That’s a hard limit for me. I cannot stand to be touched. It has proven to be difficult to discuss that with Baker because of the fact that I refuse to attempt the homework he gives me. Even Emma realizes my qualms. Of course it is only males that seem to bother me. When Emma hugs me, it is ok. 

“…Lovely, tonight, Fiona. Truly.”

Allan’s warm words wash over in a cascade of honestly and zeal. I feel liberated tonight because this really is my first date in London, granted it could probably be a bit more exciting then this busy bar, but I am exhilarated to be seated next to a man at a bar and feel very little anxiety. 

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I know it is Em texting me back. She had her auditions so I sent her a brief note to let her know that I had to cancel drinks with her because I was having them with a man. I was dying to see her response, but right now I am too preoccupied by the look on Allan’s face to check. He seems a willowy sort of happy as if he is over the moon and straight through the stars that I’ve agreed to this. 

“Thank you,” I murmur with a soft blush, “I am having a really nice time.”

It is strange that what I was saying was actually true. I often find myself lying and making excuses to make others comfortable around me. Baker says that it’s crap, but I can’t help but feel the constant need to consider others. Tonight it is genuine. Just as long as he doesn’t touch me.

He doesn’t. Thankfully. 

When I am safely inside of my apartment, I finally call Emma and slide down the wall of my apartment, elation still ever present inside of me. I’ve made progress. She is sweet and as kind as ever with encouraging words. When I talk to Em, I feel normal…like one of the girls. 

Em feels confident about her audition and tells me all about it. I am ecstatic for her. Emma is her best self while she is working. She is a gem all of the time, but when she is practicing her craft, I know she is a more actualized individual. Her smile is brighter.

She tells me that Tom arrived in and is staying at her house for the next few months. Months! I lend her sympathy and roll my eyes. Bloody Tom and his money and expensive house with famous neighbors. Em is neither thrilled nor unhappy. She is indifferent, so I decide to follow her lead and remember to stay away from her flat for a while. I don’t like Tom.

The remainder of the week is good for me. I run errands, exercise, and have very few episodes apart from my nightly checks. They are becoming briefer and briefer every day, which was no small feat. I phone Baker on Thursday to tell him the progress and also because I am nervous. I have a date, date with Allan from orthopedics tonight. We are meant to go to a fancy restaurant and then to see a play in town. He hasn’t provided specifics yet, but I am so nervous that I’ve been snappy all day. 

‘Put your anxiety to bed earlier tonight, Fi. It’s your time to have fun,’ Baker said gently. It isn’t so easy, though. 

I wear a red dress that makes me feel confident and pin my hair into messy little twists. I do all of this in my work office because I don’t have the time to go home and do it properly. Last thing that goes on is a bit of make up. Nothing intense, just enough to make me look alive and well. 

As I stare at my appearance in the bathroom mirror, I wince. I look pretty. I don’t usually come to work so elaborately dressed, and it only just no dawns on me that everyone will be talking about how I look when I walk out. I draw a shaky breath at the prospect and sink into myself for a small moment, clutching the cold sink for good measure while I try and rehearse Baker’s mantra in my head. 

It’s my time. It’s my time. 

Finally, when the clock indicates that it is getting late, I through caution to the wind and decide to let people talk if they want to. It won’t make me less of a surgeon, will it?  
People do gawk, but not as badly as I had anticipated. My breathing is shallow as I walk through the lobby, sign out, and then head out to where a cab was going to be picking me up in seven minutes. Exactly seven. I try to push the mounting anxiety down, but I can feel it growing slowly but surely as I count my steps to the street. 

Stop, Fi! my subconscious screams, no counting!

I breathe deeply and shake my head firmly, now chilled by the cool London air. I can do this. What’s more is that I want to do this. I’ve lived my life in a bubble of misery for far too long and it is time I allow myself to be happy again. 

The cab pulls up and I slide in murmuring quiet instructions. This scares me too. Cabs usually terrify me because of the chance that someone will hurt me. Baker and I have taken cabs for sessions before. It’s called exposure therapy and the first few times I was a mess. Being alone with a stranger, especially If it is a male stranger, sets me on edge. 

Tonight I gaze out of the window at beautiful London, enthralled that I call this place my home. It’s antique and lovely to the point that my mind gets all hazy when I think about it. London. I always was so desperate to travel growing up. Even after what happened and ‘my thing’ developed, I still had that wanderlust coursing through me. I haven’t seen all of the places I’ve wanted to. But living in London really is a dream. Some mornings I lie in bed and smile that I should be so lucky. 

The restaurant that Allan has chosen is very swanky. I guess that he’s trying to impress me, but I am not won over by those sort of things. Once I am inside and my coat has been taken, I am escorted to the table where Allan is seated, looking absolutely dapper. He smiles when he sees me and I feel a little faint. Is this too fast? I want to call Baker and ask, but I know that he would disapprove.   
Before he can place his hands on my chair, I slide into the seat and smile.

“You look lovely this evening, Fiona,” he compliments warmly. It felt good that he noticed. I smile, flashing white teeth, and return the favor in assessing his attire. He blushes and that’s when I realize that Allan is nervous, too. Maybe that is why I agreed to this. If Allan was nervous, then he couldn’t hurt me. He would be too nervous to try and touch me. Everything would be ok because he was nervous. 

Half way through our entrees and I notice how much wine I’ve drank. Nearly two glasses. I’m a lightweight, so I start to panic. What if Allan notices my state and tries to take advantage of me? I politely decline any more and sip water the rest of the dinner. My stomach feels a little nauseous after I’ve eaten my chicken and mash. It was prepared well, but I can’t stop my thoughts from racing severely and making my heart pound. Everything had been going so extremely well that it seemed stupid for me to be so worried. I knew that, but couldn’t force my mind to rationalize that. Not for the life of me, and not with my thing. 

I didn’t want dessert and I especially did not want to go to the show with Allan. At some point during our entrees I became increasingly uncomfortable and began to fidget under the table. I do this. I get to a point in my discomfort where progress doesn’t matter anymore. Baker calls it my biggest weakness. I’m so afraid to fail that I plunge straight into the darkness.

I push myself, though. I smile and make polite conversation with Allan who appears to not notice my crazed behavior. Maybe I just feel psychotic. Maybe I really do look beautiful in my red dress and pretty face. Perhaps Allan is a normal guy and he doesn’t want to hurt me. Even if he doesn’t want to hurt me, I am still hurt so badly that I can’t fathom a relationship or the thought that others could view me in such a light. Poor, Allan, I think to myself as he pays our check, refusing Dutch. He is putting on this show for nothing. I am a train wreck just waiting to derail. 

He insists on helping into my coat despite my protest. It all goes down hill from there as his thumbs brush over my shoulders, the rough pads of his skin gently caressing my smooth skin just below the blade. I wince and he notices it. He places a hand on my upper arm to steady me as he realizes that something is very wrong. 

“Don’t!” I whisper harshly, now angry with myself for ever agreeing to this. He doesn’t let go and I am finally aware of the fact that the coat check gentlemen has disappeared and left us alone. My throat constricts painfully as I imagine all of the terrible things that could happen. I feel desperate to do something with my hands—something to help me release the build up of tension that has melded into my veins and seeped into my system throughout the course of the afternoon and night. My optimism is gone.

“Fiona?” Allan questions quietly, his voice tinged with doubt and concern, “are you alright?”

“No!” I sputter, pulling away from him, my coat still hanging from my elbows as I put forth desperate attempts to get it onto my shoulders. Is this what he wanted? Was he going to report back to the hyenas that we worked with and tell them how royally fucked up Dr. Boe was? Fiona Boe, fantastic surgeon, dreadful date. I can hear it now and I can’t banish it no matter how hard I try. Now I am flustered and my eyes are wet. I know that I am going to melt down. I need help. I need understand. I feel like all of the breath in my body is slowly seeping out and as I try to inhale and take more in, I can’t.   
I’m cut off.

“Just go!” I say sharply, feeling the damn about to break. I’m clutching the coat counter tightly, my head is hung. I can’t bear to look up at Allan, so instead, my eyes shift for the doors. 

I bolt. 

I’m a coward.

London is fucking freezing, but I don’t care. I can’t get back into a cab again. My nerves are too shot. My eyes are blurry and I am bumping into people left in right who are looking at me as if I am truly crazed. Oh god. I want the earth to swallow me up in all of my misery. I don’t want to be Fiona anymore. 

I’m at Emma’s doorstep before my feet can register how bad it felt to walk this long distance in my shoes. My face is wet and dry at the same time. The cold air outside has dried up my tears before they had the chance to fall all the way down. I’ve never felt this low. Baker won’t pick up. My hands tremble as I knock. I should have had her pick me up, but I can’t speak. I am fucking mute right now.  
Emma doesn’t answer. 

I press my face against the door, slow, agonizing sobs hiccuping from my lips, tumbling into a mess of gasps and wet saline. Devastation. Everything has been lost so quickly.   
Suddenly, the door moves out of place and I fall forward, stumbling in shock. I expect to see Emma, with her beautiful sympathetic eyes, but instead I find another set of eyes, curious and mortified at once.  
Tom.   
I’ve met Tom just once, yet he had managed to make a horrible impression. I don’t have any fondness for him, and I immediately brace myself for his leer and disgust, yet it never comes. In fact, warmth washes over me, sweeping from the apartment and just barely to me. 

He’s dressed in a pair of black pants and a cable knit sweater pulled up, revealing his forearms. 

“Fiona,” he breathes softly, “Fi…” he trails off, saying my name as if we’ve been friends all of our lives. “You’re freezing… for Christ sakes… please come in.”

He doesn’t touch me. 

As I walk through the door, my limbs shaking desperate to be rid of my nerves, I am stiff as a board expecting him to wrap his arms around me the same way he does to his sisters. He is very physically affectionate from what I’ve noticed. He doesn’t touch me, though. Instead he shuts the door and looks at me. 

“What’s wrong? Fiona… you’re shaking. Come, there is a fire in the sitting room… I’ve just settled down with tea. Let’s get you some tea, Fiona… you need some tea,”

Oddly enough, the smooth texture of his masculine voice comforts me. I let myself bathe in it for short moments as I obediently follow Tom’s tall form as he guides me through the house that I’ve been in thousands of times before until we are finally standing in the much warmer sitting room and I am staring at the fire as if it is the most beautiful thing that I have ever laid eyes on before. 

My tears refresh and become errant and blur my vision again. Soft sounds give my despair away to the actor and he looks at me cautiously and nervously. He doesn’t know what to do.

Oh god, I commiserate. Emma has told him. 

“Y-you don’t have to stare,” I hiccup, sorrow laced heavy in my tone. Tom’s eyes don’t travel. They stay firm and bright and liquid and for a moment I feel as if I am swimming. 

“You’re hurt,” he observes quietly—sympathetically. His blond hair is now dark for a recent movie role and he has facial hair that surely tickles when he presses his English kisses against people’s cheeks in greeting. I cringe at the thought and his words. “has someone hurt you?” he inquires, looking at my attire. I numbly shake my head. 

“Where’s Emma?”

“Date,” he responds, eyes refusing to shift away from mine. “I am going to make you some tea, Fiona. Please sit down… here,” he took a throw off of the window seat and handed it to me, keeping his distance. My lips quiver. “Oh, darling….” He hummed remorsefully.

“Tom…please sit down next to me,” I request in a small voice, “I don’t think I can be alone right now,”

He sits criss cross applesauce in front of the fireplace, waiting tentatively for me to follow. I make sure we are well spaced apart and then sit down on my knees, trying to remain modest in my dress. Tom’s eyes are glued to me. It makes me nervous and comforts me. The fire is warm and kisses my skin. 

“You know then?”

“About the OCD? Darling, I knew when I first met you….”

“How?”

He shrugs,

“Intuition; little things you did. You were jittery and I knew that you were not on anything… plus, you never let me get near you.”

My eyes grow dark at this revelation.

“Were you trying to?”

“I wanted to get to know you better. Emma is crazy about you. She says that you think I’m a right cockhead, too,” he grins toothily, “naturally that intrigued me.”

“Sorry,” I mutter, casting my eyes down away from him. He smiles. I can feel it. 

“Don’t apologize. Listen, Fiona… there are a lot of things to be ashamed of in life, yeah? Having a disorder like that isn’t one of them. I mean, you’re fucking amazing, love. You heal little children for a fucking living. There is nothing more right or more beautiful than that.”

“You say fuck a lot,” I murmur off handily. His eyes crinkle up in familiar merriment. 

“I find the word liberating. Now. Are you feeling warmer?”

I nod absently. 

“Well then, I will make us tea, and then we can talk about what upset you…”

He is gone for a good five minutes before he returns with a full set up and a steaming pot of tea for us to share. There is even a small decanter of cream and I find a little peace in the moment.   
He expertly settles it down in front of us so it will sit in between, and then plops down unceremoniously, looking solemn and excited at the same time. He begins by pouring in milk to each and then adds the tea. Earl… I can smell it. Kindly, he hands me my cup and I take it graciously, murmuring a small thanks to him. Brining it to my lips, I inhale and feel comforted by the boiling liquid. Tom is watching me, and I can’t figure out why. 

“Mmm,” I groan softly, “this is good,”

Mr. Crinkly Eyes grins with satisfaction at his success and takes a sip from his own before settling it back down on the tray. Shit. He wants to talk. I don’t know how to talk to men that are not Baker. Just how much of my story did Emma tell him? She didn’t tell him, though. He figured it out himself the first time we’d met. It seemed so improbable and makes me feel uncomfortable. 

“I was on a date,”

“That explains the outfit.” My eyes bulge and Tom quickly rectifies, “…you look good.”

“Oh.”

“What happened on the date, Fi?”

“I… I am not sure. I let myself get worked up. It’s like when you don’t want to go out on a Saturday because your apartment is so cozy and you’re sleepy… the entire time you are out, you want to be in. You know?” I hold my head in my hands, “I’m sorry… I probably sound like a fucking lunatic,” I nearly halt at the profanity and then look at him and grin. He mirrors the mirth and sips his tea again. 

“How long has it been since you’ve been out, darling?”

“A long time, Tom. Very long.”

“That’s hard to imagine,” he muses thoughtfully, scratching his beaded chin.

“Why?”

“You’re attractive and successful. This is a busy city. It’s not usually a pairing that go hand in hand with a single status.”

“You’re single,” I said pointedly. He smiles wistfully,

“Yes I am,”

I know that I’ve hit a bad note.

“Recent breakup,” he explains, “the industry is a tough place to love,”

Silence.

“What did he do to make you so uncomfortable?”

“He touched me,” I reply, “I know you don’t understand, but I can’t handle being touched… I just can’t”

“That’s fine.”

“No it isn’t,” I scold harshly, 

Blue eyes, large and unknowing, relent, taking the hint that it is not a subject that I want to breach.

“I don’t want to be like this, you know? I want to be able to have someone put my fucking coat on without freaking out. He’s probably telling everyone what a freak I am,” 

My tone is very bitter. I can nearly taste it, and quickly pick up my tea and sip to wash it away.

“If anything he is regretting whatever wrong move he made that lost him a second date,”

I glare at Tom. Ass.

“I’m sure,”

“It’s true,” he shrugs, “what do you need to feel better? Shall I ring Emma?”

“No,” I murmur, “I’m feeling better…. thanks,” the gratitude seems forced, but I really am grateful. He nods his head in understanding. 

“Would you like to watch a film?” he poses suddenly. “Opposite sides of the sofa, naturally? We can watch something with a lot of fucked up drama… it normally makes me feel a little better.”

I crack a knowing grin and he smiles warmly. 

“Sure,”

I borrow some of Emma’s clothing and soon am situated on the opposite side of the sofa, with Tom’s long leg stretched out in front of him. We’ve both showered and he is wearing joggers and a t-shirt, while I’ve opted for a sweater and leggings. My hair is loose and drying naturally. He keeps looking over at me through the previews. It makes me nervous, but not in the way that makes me sick. I feel like a shy school girl.

We’ve chosen something I am unfamiliar with but he is sure will make him cry. I laugh at the idea, and Tom clutches his chest like it is the most award winning sound he has ever heard. My laughter. I realize then, that maybe I was wrong about Tom Hiddleston. 

Maybe he’s alright.


	3. Chapter 3

My eyes strain against the voices that tumble through Emma’s kitchenette that is just of the sitting room where I am tucked snuggly into a couch burrito. I must have dozed off at some point during the film.

I distinctly remember Tom’s voice hazy as he chatted about things, not really paying much attention to the scene. He had a bad habit of letting information slip before the movie got around to it. It annoyed me until I gave up on the movie entirely and just focused on re-centering myself. I was distracted by the endless questions that Tom asked. He was one of those naturally curious guys who made people insane with his chatter. Tonight it is _nice_ , though. 

I can hardly make out what is being said, but I do hear Emma, and she is livid.

" _Leave her alone, Tom! She isn't one of your little fuck toys,"_ _  
_

Tom's puff of annoyance was telling.

_"Thanks, Em. I do appreciate your rather colorful description of my love life. Believe it or not, I have no intention of making Fiona a fuck toy, as you so eloquently put it. She was upset, and I talked to her. Sue me"_

My body tenses as I realize how serious this conversation is. Emma thinks that Tom has taken advantage of me. Her concern is valid, too. Not regarding Tom, but merely the fact that she has acted as my personal protector over the past two years. I do feel guilty about the Tom situation. He was very kind to me, and I feel like lying flat on the sofa, my face pressed into the cushions, that I've let him down or sold him out. I'm too emotionally weak right now to go and wage a war against brother and sister, though. I just want to sleep.

 _"What happened anyway?"_ Emma's voice is now considerably calmer as it always is when she loses and argument. I almost want to laugh.

 _"Some fucking idiot upset her on a date... he touched her. Not_ that _way, but she was shaken... really badly, Em. She was frozen when she came to the door. What was I supposed to say? 'Sorry I have a working cock, so you can't come in while my sister isn't here'?"_ He snorts and I wince at how harsh he's become. His agenda was pure. There was no need to shame something that didn't happen. He was considerate and compassionate while I was a fucking wreck. He listened to me weep without blinking or passing any visible judgment. 

" _God... I knew something was off the other day. Listen, T. I'm sorry, but I really think you should stay away from her. She is vulnerable and you are a charming bastard."_

Tom chuckles a bit, clearly not offended by her depiction of him. 

_"When are you going to stop holding that against me? Look, Fiona is a nice girl, but not exactly my cuppa, Em."_

There is something wary in his voice that I cannot place, but I know that he is concealing something. It drives me crazy for a few moments.

_"You're absolutly right, Tom. She isn't some fame fucker like the last little twat you were with. A woman like Fi would do you some good...set you straight,"_

_"Unfuckingbelieveable!"_ He hisses a little loudly,  _"Make up your bloody mind, E. Your differing opinions are fucking me whiplash,_ "

Emma sighs,

_"Can you stay with Ben tonight or something? I need to talk to her and I am sure she'd be more candid if you are not present. Please?"_

Tom says nothing in return, but I hear the door swing open, and long strides echo close by. my heart speeds up momentarily and I shut my eyes tightly and burrow further into my little cocoon. Emma has scorned her older brother and now he is leaving for the night so that she can interrogate me about my date with Allan. Fuck. I don't know whether or not I am ready to rehash that just yet. For a brief moment, apart of me is tempted to bolt up and ask Tom for a ride. 

I couldn't possibly do that, though, because that would only add fuel to Emma's fire. 

I sigh and wait for the next few minutes until Tom kisses her sister and assures that he'll be back in very late. Emma appears to be content with that, and then the closes it is just her and I in the house. I sit up, no longer wanting to be wrapped in the blanket burrito that I've put myself in earlier. I stretch my limbs and already feel the emotional wear of my episode tonight. I hear the kettle going and a smile touches my lips as I think of how addictive the brits are to their tea.

It isn't long before I decide to join her in the kitchenette. Emma looks lovely in a pale blue dress and curly hair. She appears to be deep in thought as I enter the room, and smiles gently when she sees me.

"Darling,"

For the first time since I've known her, I begin to look at the similarities of Tom and Emma. He certainly has height on her, but their eyes are close. So is there cheeks. Tom looks much more like Diana, though.

"Hi," I greet quietly.

"Did you hear that?"

I nod, deciding that it doesn't make a lot of sense to lie to her.

"He was good to me, E..." my voice trails off a little, "how was your date?"

"Never mind that... how are you? What exactly happened?"

My eyes occupy everything in the room other than her.

"I freak out.... I thought I could handle it, but I was wrong. he had grubby fingers, E... they scared me."

Emma can't restrain herself anymore, and decides to tug me into her arms. I am tense at first, but it feels good to have physical affection. I shut my eyes tightly and wonder why I can't let a man do this. I want to be in love. I want to be open to that part of my life, but it feels like I am never going to get there with just how skittish I am. I couldn't even allow Allan to put my coat on for me tonight. I can't possibly imagine allowing a man to wrap his arms around me. 

My mind drifts to Tom and the way he smells. I shake my head and come back to the present. Emma looks gloomy with a fake, optimistic smile plastered on her face.

"Do you want to have tea and talk about it?"

"No... I really would love to have a nice sleep,"

"Alright, then..."

Instead of taking Tom's bedroom, which was the guest bed that I inhabited whenever I stayed the light, I took the sofa in the lounge. Emma piles it high with blankets and pillows so I am comfortable. I nestle into my little niche and she and I chat for a while despite my desire not to. She casually asks me about the date and then her brother. It makes me uncomfortable and she can tell. Emma looks beyond exhausted and we talk about her date for a few more moments before she disappears off to her bedroom and makes me promise to see her before I am off in the morning.

_______________________________________

 

I'm delirious as firm hands shake me awake. I've been thrashing, and it is very apparent from the mass tangles of bed clothing that litters my makeshift bed. 

"Fiona!" a harsh male voice whispers so low that I think I might still be dreaming. My eyelids struggle and then I make out who is hovering above me, wild blue eyes wide with terror.

Tom is gripping my shoulders gently. He has look of concern in his eyes that numb me. He is touching me, but I cannot find it within myself to be repelled. His hair is messy and his face is sleepy. Shit! I've woken him up.

"You were dreaming, darling... I had to wake you. I'm sorry."

I sit up right, pulling the covers over myself a little tighter and he releases his hands. My arms feel cold just then. Very cold. 

"I'm sorry I woke you," I whisper, not wanting Emma to wake up and once again ream Tom. He visibly relaxes. 

"That's alright... Couldn't sleep anyways. Are you feeling a bit better? Other than your dream?"

I nod at him, still slightly enamored by the transaction. Why didn't I yank him off of me and run barreling out of the house? Allan hardly touched me and I had broken off our date and walked nearly two hours to Emma's flat in hysterics. 

"Your brows are furrowed," he points out to me. "Can I get you anything? Tea, water?"

I snort softly, once again amused.

"You brits and your tea."

Tom smiles and his teeth, straight and white, nearly send me into oblivion. 

"It's how we were raised. If you're not up for anything, then how about you try to go back to sleep? Hmmm? I'll keep an ear out for the monster,"

Trusting him is absolutely mad, and maybe I am mad right now, but I burrow back down into the sofa and stare at him staring at me.

"Thank you,"

And just like that, I fall off the edge of the cliff again, this time with blue oceans in my head.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The middle of the week finds me back in Baker's office, this time zoned out as I try to unravel my peculiar start of the work week. I'm quiet and nostalgic today. This morning a little girl called Hannah died on my operating table. I don't handle these sort of things well, and apart of me thinks that my previous distractions are what killed Hannah. Naturally, Baker tries to convince me otherwise. We talk about her medical history. I did my best, and deep down I know this, but sometimes it is difficult to give myself that validation.

Baker is asking about the date again. I've been very brief, but he distinctly remembers the missed calls and the panicked voice mail that I sent him after the fifth attempt. He calls me frantic and feel slightly guilty in the fact that I am not that affected by the date anymore. It's almost as if i've forgotten how to be upset about it. How could I be upset? 

My mind drifts back to Tom.

I think about the nightmare and how he clutched my forearms forcefully and how I felt no terror or disgust when he did. I'm apprehensive to talk with Baker about this, but I know that I need to.

"Is this about Hannah, Fi?" Baker asks calmly. 

I shake my head shamefully. Maybe it _should_ be about Hannah, but it isn't.

"You have to talk to me so we can resolve these things."

"Emma's brother is in town," I admit shyly. Baker tilts his head forward encouraging me to continue. "He's called Tom, and he was there when E wasn't home... he made me tea,"

"Did you feel hesitation when you walked inside of the flat with him? Knowing that it was just him?"

I shake my head.

"I was crying, and he was talking to me like we'd been friends our whole lives..."

"He was worried?"

I nod.

"He made me tea,"

"You've said that... did anything else happen?"

"He knows about my problem."

Baker tsks,

"Fiona, OCD is a condition, not a problem."

"I thought Emma had told him and I was really embarrassed, but it turns out that he figured it out the first time we met. I was shocked as hell. Who can deduce that?"

"He is obviously intuitive."

"Emma kicked him out... he'd asked me to watch a film with him... so I could calm down without hashing out the gory details. I fell asleep and when I woke up she was accusing him of trying to seduce me or something. I felt bad because that's the furthest thing from the truth," I run a hand through my hair, "he says I'm not his type, but I sensed that he was lying... then he left. Emma asked him to spend the night at a friend's place so her and I could talk,"

"How did that make you feel? Knowing that Emma had falsely accused him?"

"Horrible. I wanted to set her straight, but I was afraid that any type of defense in his direction would look like I was enamored and confirm her suspicions."

Baker scratches his chin and I feel a little liberated. This is refreshing...finally saying it out loud. 

"Then later on that night, I felt someone shaking me and I woke up and it was Tom. I was sleeping on the sofa in Emma flat. He looked so worried and anxious. He touched me and I didn't even flinch, Baker. It was like his touch actually soothed me!"

Baker leans back in his chair, his face indifferent despite my panic. I desperately want him to tell me that I am wrong for feeling that way, but he doesn't. Instead he is endlessly patient and waits for me to divulge more truths about that night on my path to self-discovery. 

"He  _comforted_ me. And I realized a man has never comforted me before. Physically... I mean, you comfort me, but you don't really count. This is the big bad world we are talking about. I trusted him-- indefinitely. It didn't feel scary, it felt  _normal_. I've never felt normal before."

"Have you considered the possibility that you like him?"

"How do you mean?" I ask, truly curious.

"Do you think the trust can stem from possible romantic feelings? I'm not saying you are in love with this bloke, I am just saying that perhaps he is the one that is going to snap you out of this funk that you have about men. If he could break down that barrier so quickly, who knows what the future might bring?"

 

___________________________________________________________________

 

I  _hate_ Baker. 

I nearly call him to tell him that, too. 

But I cannot afford to lose time, because I've already fussed over my appearance far longer than I should have, and now I might be running a tad behind for supper at Emma's. I nearly forgot all about Diana during my Tom hysteria. As much as I am tempted to decline the invitation, I cannot pass up a chance to see her. It's been ages, and I love Diana like a daughter would her mother. In a lot of ways, I consider her to be a mother to me. 

I've changed three times. My bedroom likes like a tornado of clothing blew threw with bits and pieces everywhere for my inspection. I finally sigh dramatically and stick with what I am wearing; a grey sweater dress and a pair of tan boots. It's chilly in London, so I deem the ensemble appropriate. My blob of inky black hair is tied messily into a ponytail with pieces loose and hazardous around my face. I pinch my cheeks, deciding not to refresh makeup from earlier, and leave my apartment after doing a final scan to make sure everything is unplugged and the kitchen appliances are not malfunctioning. I am sure that Baker would love to know that it wasn't even that much of a lingering thought.

I've brought flowers.

I'm not sure why that makes me so nervous, but I am shaking in my boots as I knock on the door--literally. I've taken then tube, more comfortable on it than in a cab, and now I stare down the door to E's flat and hope that I am not late or anything. 

The door opens suddenly and Emma is standing there wearing a black dress and I sigh momentarily, glad we have all decided to dress for dinner. Blonde hair braided into a crown, she looks beautiful and happy. 

"Hello, my love!" she greets enthusiastically. I immediately realize that Reg is here. She lights up around him. I offer her the flowers and she smirks at me, "These are lovely, but what is the occasion?"

I shrug and allow her to press matching kisses on either of my cheeks. From over her shoulder, I see Diana coming from round the hall and a dazzling smile lighting up her face as she spots me. A familiar warmth floods me. Diana is beyond kind.

"Hello, my lovely girl!" she gushes as I am traded off. Diana squeezes me until I am warm and then holds me at arms length for a brief inspection, "absolutely stunning!"

"How are you?" I inquire politely.

"Magnificent, actually... do come in, won't you? Emma, take her coat!"

I snigger lightly as Emma fetches my coat with her eyes slightly rolled, and follow the both of them into the kitchen where I can smell a wonderful marsala. 

"Tom's outdone himself... he's the bloody chef in the family," Emma explains as we travel. Then we are there, in the tiny kitchen, and Tom is there in a pair of dark trousers and a white button down with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, stirring a pot on the stove. He turns as we enter and I note his frilly pink apron and clasp my hand at my mouth so I don't laugh. He eyes me suspiciously and grins.

"Hello, Fiona."

"Hi, Tom."

I know that I am blushing. Why am I blushing? 

"It smells great in here!" I say nervously. If there was a hole to crawl into, I would. 

"Chicken marsala. E says it's your favorite."

"It is," I confirm. I look around at the bustling kitchen and all of the running appliances. So many... the microwave, stove, electric kettle. My head feels a little fuzzy.

"Let's chat in the sitting room, love," Diana suggests. "Would you like some wine to go?"

I accept the glass of wine, and pay one last fleeting look to Tom who sees us out, and swallow hard. He is staring, too, his expression wary and a little vacant as if he is committing a crime. I wonder whether or not Emma has further warned him. He looks hollow.

Despite my growing need to rush into the kitchen to comfort Tom, I sit in the lounge with Diana. Reg has popped in for a brief 'hello' and he and E go to set the table. I don't feel uncomfortable with Diana, I merely feel uncomfortable with the fact that Tom seemed distraught and that I am so fixated on it. I also feel apprehensive about all of the cooking, but I try my best to shove that to the back of my mind and focus on Diana and her adventures as an art buyer and curator. 

She is the essence of the woman that I want to be. She is honest and elegant. Her sophistication isn't overwhelming, and her gentle nature and the way she cares for others makes my heart very tender. Diana has raised very intelligent and confident children. I respect and envy that.

We chat for a while before dinner is served. We all huddle around E's tiny table, and tuck into the food and the wine.

It's delicious. 

After my first bite, I pick my head up in a bit of shock and glance up to see Tom watching me with a demure smile of satisfaction on his face. I sip my wine and smile. 

"Where did you learn to cook, Tom?"

Emma and Diana all have a great laugh. Tom blushes and runs a hand through his slicked back hair.

"Would one of you like to take that?"

Emma volunteered.

"When this broomhead went off to uni, he dropped weight really quick because he couldn't manage to cook anything for himself! Mum was tormented when she saw him at the holidays and demanded that he learn--"

"So as an impromptu christmas gift, I got lessons... from a very mean italian lady who terrified me."

"He's been decent in the kitchen every since," Diana confirms. Reg sniggers, willingly taking the piss out of his friend. Tom glares at his sister's boyfriend and stuffs another bit of chicken into his mouth. 

"Well this is delicious. Thank you,"

He looks shocked as I pay him this compliment. I swallow hard and look back down at my plate nervously. 

"My pleasure, darling."

Emma notes the moment of tension and draws us back into conversation involving a terrible cookie ordeal between her and Tom around Boxing Day. I end up a giggling mess, tears leaking from my eyes as the two of each other spur one another on and tell it so candidly. 

Everything is normal after that. We talk and enjoy our meal. At some point, my gnawing obsession forces me to excuse myself. I promise that it will only be a moment. I just have to check and then everything will be ok. When I leave the dining room for the loo, I make a pit stop in the kitchen where I quickly do a run through. I know Emma's kitchen like the back of my hand. When I reach the stove, my heart nearly stops. It's still on. Quickly I reach over and turn it off. But that just isn't good enough now. Now I need to make sure it is off, and the only way to do that is to wait for it to cool down. I carefully maneuver the marsala pot from the burner and then press my finger quickly against it. It burns and I withdraw, quickly slipping the offended digit into my mouth and sucking. I wait a few moments, running through the bases again, and once more I press my finger against the stove to make sure that it is cooling off.

"Ouch!" I hiss again. It doesn't feel like it is cooling down. I am a slave to this stove until it cools. I know this.

The door swings open and Tom is mid-laugh whilst I am once again checking for the temperature. I look at him guiltily as his eyes shift from the sadness etched in my face towards my burning fingers.

"Fiona!" he whispers harshly, somehow understanding my desire to keep this private, "darling, stop that!"

"I have to make sure," I argue as he grabs my hand and pulls me away. He turns the sink on and carefully places my hand under the cool stream of water. I wince as it initially stings me, but Tom's hand is unrelenting and his grasp is strong. "It was still hot," I whisper quietly, trying to answer for myself. He continues to be silent and I feel tears brimming in my eyes. "I'm sorry,"

"Don't apologize," his voice is a warm caress, "I understand that you cannot help it...but _please_ , Fiona,  _please_  don't hurt yourself. I can't bear it,"

I nod my head, and two drops of saline fall from my eyes and splash onto my dress.

"I really want to tuck your into my arms right now, Fiona. I want to kiss your head and tell you that you're strong and that I admire your strength," his voice coasts softly from firm and unyielding, to weak and vulnerable. "But I won't,"

My belly feels raw. 

"I'm fucked up,"

He groans,

"Don't say that, Fi... don't you dare! This entire world is filled with fucked up people. You're  _not_ one of them,"

He's seething. I want to soothe him and ask him why he is so affected by me. I'm a simple girl and he is a man who is use to starlets clinging to him with their beautiful faces and figures, giving him everything he could ever want. I am Fiona Boe, workaholic with a problem that yields me incapable of love or a normal quality of life. 

I don't realize what I've done until I feel the firm pounding of a heart under my hand. I've pressed my palm against Tom's heart in attempts to calm him. He feels warm under the layer of his dress shirt. His heart beat speeds up and then evens out. I look at him, looking at me, looking at my hand and his chest. I am not repulsed or scared. I feel safe and warm. Tom feels warm. 

"Sorry," I murmur gently, my cheeks blushing pink as I bring my hand away from him. He catches it within his own two hands and I still for a moment, not knowing how this would end, but as he brings it up to his lips and presses a tender kiss against the palm, I feel no fear. I am simply enamored by how lovely it felt. His eyes stay centered on my own, gaging my reaction as his thumbs brush carefully along my knuckles, bringing my hand down and then I am free, but I realize that I don't want to be free.

"I'm not giving up on you, Fi. So prepare to be uncomfortable and tested and pushed, because I'm here now..." 

Then he left me alone in the kitchen, the stove cool, and my body warm. 

He's not giving up on me. 

I don't want him to. 


	5. Chapter 5

If I have ever been obsessive over something, it was now. Now my mind is so wrapped around Thomas Perfect Hiddleston that I can't even blink without relating it back to him.

_I'm sure Tom looks lovely when he blinks. Fair lashes and blue eyes._

Damn him!

He's popped in for breakfast with Emma and I on a few occasions since the dinner party, but other than that, he's been busy. I have too, but that doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, because my mind is constantly wrapped around the lanky bastard. I can't even vent about it, because Emma would have a cow, and Baker would smirk about how  _right_ he was. Baker is an advocate for me moving on with my life, having a boyfriend, getting married, and having kids. He says so to me all of the time. He is my therapist, so I expect as much, but to think that he might leave me with some dignity by be a bit more subtle!

I was so convinced that relationships and love were not for me, but when Tom spoke to me nearly two weeks again, hope was real and I allowed myself to admit that he makes me feel some kind of way...

 _"Dr. Boe, line 2_ "

"Who is it?" I mutter, still tired from the shift that I worked the previous two days. We are currently understaffed and I am working double time with less surgeries and more ER tickets than is good for me.

_"A Mr. Broomhead?"_

My eyes widen and I frown to myself momentarily at how daft my assistant Rose is. Poor girl.

"Thank you,"

Once Rose's line goes dead, I draw a deep breath and then press for '2'

"This is Dr. Boe,"

"Look at you!" Tom's baritone is unmistakable and very rich and enticing, even when he is teasing so directly. "Good afternoon, Dr. Boe."

"Tom," I greet icily.

"Oh, that won't do, darling. We're friends now, remember? Friends are nice to one another," he laughs to himself, "so friend, I would really  _love_ to take you out to a play tomorrow..."

"As a friend?"

"Why? Do you want to just by-pass all of this and be my date?" Tom inquires cheekily. Smug bastard.

"No," I answer, my tone still cool. Apart of me wants to stamp on my own foot because I am doing it again. I don't want to ruin my shot at this. "Though I don't think Emma would be too keen."

Tom snorts audibly,

"Who bloody cares?"

"I do! She's my best friend!" 

"Fiona, you certainly don't make chatting up very easy, do you? Listen, darling, I am showing up to your flat tomorrow at six. We are going to eat at a non-offensive mom and pop shop, and then go and see a wonderful piece from the man himself...  _William Shakespeare_ "

He caresses the name like one would and infant.

"What if I'm working?"

"I know you're not...You should chuck Rose, she isn't very confidential. A bit of flirting and she was mine and your schedule was, too"

"Tom!" I hiss at him, 

"I had to cover all of the bases, Fiona. You're a slippery little thing, and I thought that you might dance straight out of my grasp if I didn't check."

"Friends?" I test again saucily. 

"I'm trying not to scare you, darling."

"So this is a date?"

"Do you  _want_ it to be? Never mind, don't answer that. In  _my_ head, yes, this is a date with my sister's best friend who is positively lovely, and will most definitely enjoy herself."

I'm smiling. 

I'M SMILING!

I want to call Baker, because I am excited. As soon as I get off the phone I bite my lip and try to control the wide smile on my lips.

I'm going on a date with Tom. A  _date_ date. _  
_

I woke better when I am happy. I don't think that speaks volumes for me considering my particular field, but today I am extra cheerful as I do post-op check ins and participate in a spiderman web-off with one of my tiny patients called Fernando. He's overjoyed by it, but tires quickly. His parents are thrilled when I tell them that he is progressing nicely and should be released in the upcoming week. I scatter before they can hug me.

I don't think I can deal with that. Not yet, anyway.

 

________________________________________________________________

 

I finally confess some things to Baker and he is seemingly annoyed that I left them out during my last session. He also comments on how much I am blushing. If I didn't know that Baker was purely professional, I would have cringed and assumed that he was flirting with me, but I know better. He can tease me and I can tease him. That's just the way our system of balance works. 

Today we try and decode everything that has happened recently and how it is making me feel.

"Normal... I feel  _normal_ ," I confess, "I feel liberated... I feel like Tom is a bad boy and I am letting my hair down and playing hooky with him. I don't know... it's cliche, but new for me, so I am excited,"

"You look very happy, Fi. I'm happy for you," he folds his hands, "I want your mind to be prepared.... Tom sounds like quite the character. He's proven on more than one occasion that he can touch you without adverse reactions, which is great, but I want you to make sure that you don't allow him to catapult you into situations you're not ready for,"

I nod,

"Yeah, I know... I'm scared, but I'm unsure how to set boundaries."

"How do you feel about bringing him in for a session? So we can hash these things out and set a pace?"

I snort, amused and humiliated by the thought.

"This is our first date! I can't invite him to therapy session with me! It'll scare him off,"

Baker's eyes narrow and he leans back in his chair, the croaking making me wince a bit. It sounds like a dying cow. It probably  _is_ a dead cow.

"You said that he was concerned about you...that this began with concern,"

"So,"

"So if Tom truly wants to pursue a relationship with you, he is going to be willing to bend and twist in every way. You're a special girl, Fi. I think he realizes that."

 

___________________________________________________________

 

I've chosen blue. 

The dress is elegant and covers enough so that I don't feel insecure, but the thin v-cut that separates my breasts boosts my confidence that Tom won't know what hit him. The material clings just above my knees to avoid any Marilyn moments. It's been windy lately. My hair is fastened in a series of little twists that are loose and have no particular pattern. Free pieces fly around my face. I'm flushed from the exertion of getting ready, and my lips are painted pink to compliment smoky eyeshadow. I've put effort into myself, and while I hope he doesn't fawn, I also want him to notice that I've done it all.

He rings my doorbell at 6:02. I've been sitting in the lounge pretending to leaf through a case file while tapping a hole into the ground with my lovely black heels. Good and Faithful, I call them. They are Chanel and expensive as hell. A present to myself after I had paid off my last student loan. I hardly wore them anywhere, terrified they would garner too much attention. Tonight I am throwing caution to the wind. Plus the compensate for the height difference between Tom and I.

When I open the door, his mouth hangs open a second. 

Mine does, too. 

God, he looks  _hot_. 

He is wearing a pair of black trousers and a black V-neck shirt tucked in neatly, and a crushed velvet blazer. My throat dries out. He has in his fists a bouquet of yellow lilies. 

"My god," he breathes, "you look absolutely incredible..."

He stares for a few long moments before snapping out of his momentary haze and looking up at me. 

"Christ, sorry--right, I am a  _tit_... these are for you, Fi... god, you look beautiful," he slumps again as he hands me the flowers and smiles weakly. 

"Shush. Come in while I put these in water,"

I want to squeal because that is the line I've always heard in movies. I'm finally saying it!

I know that he is watching me as I walk into the kitchen. There is no red neon light telling me what time it is. I've unplugged everything twenty minutes ago. Everything should be ok. I've taken my medicine on time today, and I feel relaxed and happy. 

I find a vase and place my flowers in some water, dumping in the food that comes along with it, and bringing them out to the lounge where Tom is currently scanning my photographs. His backside was rather enjoyable to look at. His hands were fisted deep in his pockets and his neck was elongated, stretching to see all there was to see.

"You like to read," he muses lightly.

"Love to," I confirm, settling the vase down on a table that connects the foyer to the lounge. For a brief moment, my mind flashes to whether or not something might knock it over, but then I chide myself. Unless I sleep walk, that is highly improbable. 

Improbable. 

I have come to love that word on my journey. When I think of it on my own, it gives me chills and excitement, because it means that I am doing better--I am getting better. 

I clap my hands together unable to contain myself. My grin is earsplitting and Tom turns with a matching one to boot.

"You look positively radiant this happy, Fi."

"Yellow is my favorite color,"

"I know,"

My brow creases in momentary confusion,

"You do?"

"Emma rattles on about you all of the time. My secret is that I love it when she does," Tom winks at me and a red color appears on my cheeks once more. "Your home is lovely,"

"Thanks... I love London,"

Tom's face is warm and genuine. I feel comfortable with him, maybe even at ease. His cologne is pleasant and makes me want to inhale deeper and curl into him. Those thoughts do scare me a bit, because they are new. This was the man whom I rolled my eyes at the mere mention of. Now I wanted to  _cuddle_. Also a foreign concept to me. I've never cuddled, but it looks amazing. I can only go off of what I've seen in movies. My secret dream has always been to spend a rainy London afternoon cuddling with a romantic prospect. Wooly socks and tea would also be delightful. 

I'm going to try, I tell myself calmly, because if I don't put in the effort, I will never get my rainy day.

 

_________________________________________________________________________

 

We laugh at dinner. We've decided to split a few starters and splurge on pud. Tom confesses how much he loves pudding and that he has such a sweet tooth. He tucks into a creme brûlée, while I have apple tart. He shares bites with me, and I do the same. The wine we've been drinking makes my belly content and relaxed. I'm not thinking about home, or my kitchen. I'm not thinking about the fire or the hospital. I'm just looking at Tom and giggling at his stories.

He's looking at me, too.

After he's got the check, we head to the theater where 'Romeo and Juliet' is showing. 

"Bit cheesy, but I love the story," he tells me shyly as I look up at the marquee. He's refused to tell me throughout dinner what we are seeing. 

"It's a little bit depressing, don't you think?" I ask with a quirked brow. 

"Depends on how you look at things."

"Everyone dies, Tom!" I laugh.

"Yes, but everyone  _lives_ , too, my darling. That's the thing..."

 _My darling_.

I nearly faint. 

When we are seated, our shoulders brush. More like my shoulder with his bicep. It nearly goes unnoticed when he outstretches as hand, and tentatively I look at it. My mantra begins.

'This is Tom. He likes you. We like  _him_ ,' inner Fiona reminds. 'He doesn't want to hurt you, he just wants to hold your hand...'

I place my hand in his own and he gasps a second,

"Fi! You're freezing...here," he quickly slips off his blazer and helps me slip it over my shoulder. The only thing I feel is little bits of electricity run through me and now I am consumed by the way he smells. My shoulders feel very warm now thanks to his body heat, and when he sits down again, he holds his hand out once more and squeezes mine once it is settled within his own. 

"You smell good," I blurt out nervously. I nearly slap myself for the word vomit.

"Thanks, darling. You too,"

The play is wonderful. It steals my breath away in more than one moment, and Tom is equally entranced. He holds my hand throughout the entire performance and squeezes my hands when he is scared or excited. The actors are all spot on and I wonder whether or not Tom knows any of them. I decide not to ask. It's that bit of his life that turned me off so much that I don't want it to spoil our night. 

We take a cab back to my flat and he walks me to the door, asking the driver to circle the block until he signals. I start to feel nervous. Will he try to kiss me? Do I want him to? My heart races a little as we walk up the steps to my front door. I turn, clutching my coat closer, and smile softly.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Very much, Tom..."

"I would like to kiss you, you know?" he points out, "but I realize that we're a work in progress, so I will settle for just looking at you,"

My throat narrows, and before I can rationalize why it is a bad idea, I lean forward on the tall step, and kiss his cheek tenderly, thanking him for a magnificent evening. He looks taken aback as he touches the spot that I've kissed. 

"Thank you, Fiona. Thank you for such a wonderful evening."

"Thank  _you_ , Tom."

"Will I be getting a second go, then? There is a lot I would like to show you, Dr. Boe."

I grin and nod my head sheepishly. 

"Smashing. Good night my darling," he leans in and pressed his lips dotingly to my brow and kisses not too soft or too hard, but enough to leave a tinge lingering. He sees me in, and when I shut the door, tears flood my eyes.

I dash them away quickly, thinking that I'm a little fool as I kick my heels off, but I am so happy that I don't know how else to cope. 

Happy tears were a very welcome first for me. 


	6. Chapter 6

5 cars, 2 taxis, no bikes.

"Fiona..." Baker's voice indicates that he is exasperated. He has every right to be, too. Maybe this was why I went into pediatrics instead of psychiatry... when patients shut down there is nothing they can do about it. Baker seems to think that repeating my name in soft tones will help jolt me out of my inner sanctum. I've locked myself up in that place and I've been there for a good two weeks now. Apart of me knows that I want to leave, because if I didn't, then I wouldn't be here now, silently praying for some miracle to happen. But my mind is so stubborn and won't allow me to talk about it. 

I never want to talk about it. 

6 cars, 1 taxi, 3 bikes.

The outside world seems big from this room where I am seated frigidly, refusing to look at my friend and therapist. He knows, and perhaps that is why I am so ashamed. I called him that night, wrecked, blubbering like a teenager with a bad prom experience. I hate thinking about it. It makes my skin crawl to know that I've allowed myself to be so foolish. I can't help but wonder if Baker secretly feels the same way.

"We've got to address what's happened... Tom has been to see me,"

2 cars, no taxis, two b--

My gaze snaps from the road that I've been fixated on and I am not looking at Baker with piercing eyes, suddenly very interested in what he has to say during this expensive session. 

"What?"

"He explained that you won't have any contact with him and he sought out my professional advice..."

"Baker, you are not allowed to give out my information--that's mine!"

"You signed the disclosure, Fi. Remember when we wanted Tom to be apart of this? Remember when he sat beside you right there and held your hand while he listened to me?"

My insides sear painfully, and a low growl forms in the back of my throat. I am almost positive that I want to claw Baker's eyes out right now. He has no idea what he is talking about. He is a bias asshole. I wonder whether or not Tom has done extras for him, like autograph a picture or something. I grind my teeth at the thought. 

"Before I leave today we need to adjust the contract, then."

I'm surprised how calm I sound knowing how furious I am. It also hurts me how badly I want to know. Baker senses the desperation and before I can succumb to inquiry, he begins to speak,

"He's wrecked, you know? We talked about what happened that night. He's always been very aware of your comforts..."

I stare at him icily,

"And you're basing this off what an  _actor_  has told you?" there is so much venom in my tone. I feel as if I have been duped all along. "I  _trusted_  him... he's the first-- he is the first on so many levels! And here I am...."

"What are you, Fi?" he urges.

"I'm alone!" my voice tethers off into a dying sob that chokes me and I burry my face in my hands, raking my nails until there are scratches and I wince in pain. "I'm fucking alone..."

"Was this about what happened that night, or is it about you being afraid?" 

"It doesn't matter... he doesn't want me,"

Baker leans forward, probably inspired by the progress we are making,

"If Tom does not want you, then why did he sit in my office two days ago pleading with me to save the both of you? You know that I cannot judge or interpret love, Fi... we've talked about this before, but that man does care for you,"

My shoulders begin to shake as silent tears quake miserably through my body. 

I cry for the rest of my session, not making any attempt to further confess or try and work through what had happened. Baker let me. 

Behind closed eye lids I saw everything again. First real  _kiss_  and how gentle and patient he'd been. 

__________________________________________________________

_He was holding me at arms length in front of the front door to my apartment. It was freezing outside, and my arms were shielded from the cold, wrapped around his midsection inside of his coat, the feeling of warmth combined with the ripple of his muscles making me swoon. Three blissful weeks of this stuff--the romance that I'd read about and seen in movies. Tom was making it real for me._

_He was very understanding of what I was going through in my head. He confessed that he'd done research and read articles. One evening he'd pressed his forehead against my own and whispered how thankful he was that I allowed him to touch me even if it seemed like such a small step. He understood the struggle and appreciated that I went through to make these strides and the pleasure we both felt as a result was so much sweeter because of it._

_"You're toasty," I murmured, inhaling deeply, treasuring the way he smelled. "I hate this part,"_

_He chuckled softly and lifted a hand to my cheek, dusting hair from my eyes in the process as his neck craned so that he could look at me._

_"These three weeks have been so wonderful, Fiona," Tom confessed, "I know that I promised you we wouldn't move too fast, but I would very much like you to be my girlfriend..."_

_I gaped at him, a cross between disbelief and a tender smile._

_"Really?"_

_Tom frowned deeply, his thumb brushing against my jaw gently,_

_"Darling, I am not out to dupe you. Fiona... you are very special to me--very precious. I know that this is unconventional and that we have work to do, but I only want to do that work with you.."_

_"Tom, there are a thousand other women--they wouldn't hold you back... they would be able to_ satisfy _you,"_

 _"Is that what you think, my sweet? That I am unsatisfied?" he gave a deep laugh and brought both hands up to cradle my face. "Oh, my darling... I have not wanted companionship like this in a while. You never wanted me. I didn't dazzle you. We've found one another on genuine terms. All I can think about is how good you smell and how I want to be everything that is right for you... for_ you _, Fiona." His mouth hovered at my forehead, "Please let me be apart of your life..."_

_I nodded, unable to speak, my throat suddenly tight with tangled emotion. His lips brushed reverently, and I tipped my head up so that I could meet the soft caress. I watched his eyes, and all of the movements in his beautiful face. I thought about how patient he'd been with me. He wanted me to be his girlfriend and I hadn't even been able to kiss him yet. Right in that moment it had felt like my chest would explode with all of the affection and happiness that I had contained so carefully._

_"Kiss me, Tom," I requested simply._

_I listened to his sharp intake of breath._

_"Fi--"_

_"I'm ok. Please, kiss me..."_

_It was a moment of transcendence. Time seemed to freeze as his lips touched mine and I felt his soft breath in uneven measures. He was scared. So was I. The world spilled away, and suddenly it was just Tom and Fiona together in a blaze of light as I pressed my mouth against his and drank him in without all of the panic and fear that normally plagued my mind. His lips were thin and mine were full, creating a perfect sensation that made my heart drum fast and my toes curl. As I stood there, unaware of what I should do, he laced his fingers through my hair and took the lead, drawing my bottom lip into his mouth as he applied gentle pressed and_  kissed _._

_We were frozen like that for long moments before I realized that my hands had escaped from their warm retreat and found the place of his chest and then the lapels of his coat, holding him in place. Tom pulled apart quickly, the warmth of his mouth leaving mine, and before he could check to see whether or not I was alright, I pulled him back in, this time controlling the kiss, dazzled by the fact that it felt so natural and lovely._

_My hands touched his jaws, and then our tongues met. It wasn't messy and wet like I would have imagined, but it was a tender, and graceful dance. I bathed in the sensuality of it, and kissed him until he had to tear apart for air._

_A nervous laugh came from his mouth._

_"You're_ quite _good at that,"_

_"Who would have thought?" I teased, leaning forward and pressing tiny, chaste kisses around his mouth. "Tom-- I want to keep kissing you,"_

_He groaned softly at the straightforward admission and once again allowed me to take the lead as we locked lips._

_We stood freezing on that porch for long minutes of silence, only heaving breathing heard while we took short breaks before colliding again._

_Tom was my first kiss... this was the first time I had ever '_ made out _' with someone, and despite the stigma, it was so, so beautiful._

_When he finally demanded that I go in before I froze on the porch, he gave me one last kiss, his eyes twinkling as his mouth left my own, a soft purr,_

_"Good night, sweet girl,"_

 

______________________________________________________

 

My time runs up and Baker is asking me whether or not I want another hour, but I can't answer after that. Not after remembering that night and the way it made me feel. Instead, I went home like I did most days after our sessions. I usually cannot bear to go back to the hospital afterward. Today I feel empty. I keep asking myself how the greatest time of my life could have disappeared so quickly--could have dissolved right in front of my eyes. 

Once I start thinking, I can't stop. 

He was my first boyfriend. Tom defended me when Emma found out, and he comforted me when I slipped up. I could distinctly remember the night my hands shook so badly as I dialed his number. It was nearly three a.m. and I had been at it for the past forty-five minutes, torturing myself as I went through the repetition over and over again, too much energy built up and my nerves frazzled. 

The thoughts that had clouded my mind were destructive. I remembered the fire and Bea screaming. When Tom answered, I couldn't speak. I couldn't say a single thing. I had been frozen in place. Tom had panicked. He could sense the distress that I was under, and before I knew it, he was breaking into my apartment, and then kneeling in front of me, holding my face in his hands, begging me to tell him what had happened. 

That was the night that I told him about the fire. I told him about Bea, my sister, and I told him that she died and I didn't. He understood. He cried with me as he thought about the eight year old girl that had been terrorized by a circumstance. It finally made sense to him--the OCD. He understood my need to check, and then check again...my obsession with heat. What he couldn't understand was why I was so jittery about men. When he begged me to tell him, the floodgates dropped, and I became and incoherent, sobbing mess, pitiful as i clutched him tightly and allowed him to comfort me through his own anguish as he caught bits of my story and the abuse that I had endured. 

I thought we were invincible after that. When Tom had accepted what had happened and had not turned away in disgust I expected. Everything had been laid out for him to turn away from and he didn't.  _He didn't_. 

Instead, with a very steady and calm voice he said,

 _"Fiona-- I am in love with you_."

He was in love with me. 

I loved him too. 

But everything was ruined now. I had ruined  _everything_.                                               

 


	7. Chapter 7

_It had been nearly two months since Tom had told me that he loved me. A lot had happened in the "in-between". As we became more seriously engaged as a couple, both privately and publicly, he started to accompany me to my sessions with Baker. We talked about many things in session. It comforted me immensely that Baker was there to facilitate and say things when I couldn't. I had signed a disclosure form as a sign of faith in the dynamics between Tom and I. He would be privy the private life I had tried so hard not to remember. He need to know everything so that we could exist normally and I could get better._

_Our third session together and I brought up intimacy._

_"...I_ want _to be able to do that," my cheeks had burned bright red as I voiced this. Tom, sensing my discomfort, took hold of my hand and gave me a gentle squeeze of understanding._

_"That's good, Fi," Baker said with a firm nod. "That tells us that you feel comfortable with Tom and you want to make a special connection with him,"_

_"I'm afraid, though..."_

_"Why, darling? You know I would never hurt you-- I wouldn't_ dream _of it."  
_

_I glanced back at Baker, nervous to continue on._

_"Tom, there is something you don't know."_

_I avoid his clear blue eyes, embarrassed that I was finally admitting this to him. I knew that I had to. If I didn't, then it would make the process of intimacy much more difficult and uncomfortable._

_"Tell me, Fi... you know you can say anything to me,"_

_Damn him, I thought. He was so genuine and tender in his desires to know all of me. He was patient in a way that I never knew existed for men, let alone_ his _sort. He was a very attractive male who could easily have a room full of women falling to their feet for him. I was meek and timid, and had yet to sate any sexual needs that he had. I felt inadequate and like a lousy partner._

_"I'm a virgin, Tom."  
_

_Time seemed to stand still in that moment. I finally had gained the courage to look at him as I spoke the words. He was apart of my life, and it was important. This was a defining moment for me._

_"Fiona-- darling," he took a deep breath and rubbed his thumb against my knuckles, casting his eyes downward, "I had already figured as much, my love."_

_"What?"_

_"Fi-- you called me your first kiss. Remember?"_

_How could I forget when glassy, emotion filled tears filled his eyes as I shared that with him. He was so happy and touched that I had frozen that moment and committed it to my memory._

_"Wow," I breathed in relief, "I imagined that would be much harder..."_

_"Fiona, let's talk about the act of being intimate and how is scares you," Baker suggested, sensing that I was falling off the track. Tom continued to look at me expectantly._

_"I don't want to not be good at it," I told both men shortly. "I have always been so uncomfortable with men-- I really never expected to get as far as being able to--kiss you the way that we do." I blush and Tom smiles gently, bringing my hand up for a soft kiss against my palm._

_"So we see Tom as the one who beat the odds, right?"_

_"I guess," I nodded, "yeah..."_

_"Intimacy shouldn't be any different then. When the both of you feel emotionally ready, I am sure Tom will be happy to take you through the steps and make sure that it is a very pleasurable experience for you,"_

_Tom nodded quickly._

_"You are my princess," he insisted, "I am going to make sure to take care of all of your needs always, my love... always,"_

_Somehow I couldn't be content and I was terrified. I swallowed hard and felt my palms sweat._

_"Fi..." Baker began, recognizing the beginning of my stress, "we are going to try some exercises to first make you comfortable with the idea of sharing your bed with Tom... we will start slow to make_ you _comfortable"_

 

_______________________________________________________

 

_Our first exercise was getting acclimated to Tom spending the night. We would be doing that once we became intimate, and I needed to get use to it. We began at my apartment. Tom and I decided that the first time we made love we should be at my place rather than his, because I was much more comfortable. He'd only recently moved into his new home and it lacked the homey feel still._

_Baker challenged us to sleep together in the same bed, and cuddle._

_I laughed at first and it made Tom's eyes narrow as if he were a student in a lecture and the woman behind him was making entirely too much noise._

_We had to cuddle._

_It didn't seem like such a difficult concept. I allowed Tom to put his arm around me when we watched movies, and I loved to be close to him when we kissed, but being in that close of proximity while I was sleeping felt a bit daunting. Firstly, I woke up nearly every night need to run checks around my house. He knew that I did this, but to witness it would be different. I thought about this possibility of not being able to escape his grasp in the night. If our assignment was to cuddle, Tom would most likely want to wrap me up. He was a self-confessed cuddler. It was his_ thing _and one of the hardest aspects of our relationship for him. Not being able to tug me into his arms whenever he felt the urge to do so plagued him._

_But when the time came, and he brushed his teeth in my bathroom while I rubbed aromatherapy lotion into my hands and tried to reign in my nerves. We'd gone out for dinner and I had picked at my food while he went over his press schedule for a new movie that he'd completed a few months beforehand. It would be the first press event that we attended together, and all I could think about were all of the problems back at the base._

_We haven't had sex yet. He's a man... he wants it._

_As he came out of the bathroom, he walked around the room as if he's belonged there his entire life. He wore a white t-shirt and blue and grey flannels. He appeared quite muscular, and I quirked an eyebrow succumbing to the fact that he was very attractive like this._

_"Alright?" he questioned. Baker had been very careful in explaining that the more Tom babied me, the more difficult the process would be. I would freak myself out given the opportunity to do so, so if he made a fuss, mentally I would shut down before we started. I knew it killed him._

_"Yes. Are you sure you don't want tea or milk or anything?"_

_"Yes, my love... I am sure," he replied smoothly, drawing the duvet back. He looked at all of my pillows. "Are we keep all of these?"_

_I shrugged._

_"I like to have something cushioning me,"_

_His smile was very tender as he replied,_

_"That's my job now, Fiona."_

_I smiled back, a tinge of comfort radiating through me. This is Tom and I love him. He wants to hold me, and that is perfectly normal. My inner Fiona is routing for us._

_Baker has been clear with instructions. Unless both parties felt like it was appropriate, we wouldn't go any further. He also warded us away from kissing or anything that could arouse either of us and make me feel uncomfortable. I am scared for that._

_I climbed into bed and wait for him to lie down. He does, and bravely, I sought out his embrace. It was dark. I couldn't see anything other than the cool white fabric of his shirt. My head rested against his pectorals and his inhale and exhale calmed me. I am surrounded by Tom's scent. It's masculine and deep._

_"Put your arm arms around me," I requested softly, feeling a missing piece as I lay against him._

_He very carefully slid his arm around my back and used his free hand to gather me closely and cup my shoulder. I am consumed by him, but it feels freeing, and makes me feel so warm._

_"How are you holding up, darling?"_

_My breathing nearly hitched as I realized what I wanted him to do. I knew that it was important that I said it, so boldly I whisper,_

_"Tighter, Tom,"_

_He squeezed me tightly, but not too tightly and I am wrapped up in this man who is soon to be my lover. He felt good._

_"I love you, Fiona... this sensation right now is so wonderful... being able to hold you so close. I want to memorize everything about right now..."_

_For a long while, we just laid there and listen to each other breathing. I could feel the steady drum of Tom's heart beat. It was stable and firm, just like him._

_'Tell him!' Inner Fiona chanted at me, 'you never know what tomorrow brings!'_

_Sadly I am reminded of Bea. Oh, my sweet Bea. I wished that I could have told her I loved her again._

_I tried to say the words only to have them swallowed up. It was too much right then, and I just wanted him to hold me. It felt good in a way that I never imagined._

_He fell asleep before me. I followed soon after._

_I didn't wake up at 2:15 that morning. I didn't even think about it. I slept soundly through the night, Tom's breathing, and the feeling of being huddled so closely against someone soothing me from the usual predicaments that plagued me in the dark._

_I was safe._

_________________________________________________________________

 

_We decided to make love on a night that was important to the both of us. We selected our four month anniversary. I marked it in my calendars and made sure to prepare for everything carefully. I waxed every inch of my body. I spent the day at a spa making sure to relax myself and endure pampering that I usually wouldn't have sat for. I had my nails painted, and my hair trimmed. I skipped out on a massage, not quite comfortable enough with the idea of someone touching me like that while I was nude. No, that was for tonight._

_Tom and I talked about it. He told me stories about his own virginity and how terrified he had been. He said that he thought it was beautiful that I had waited to be in love in order to finally give myself to a man. We both knew that it was far more complicated than that, but somehow his words soothed me when my nerves were practically fried._

_He cooked for me inside of my apartment. Salmon and veg. I knew that it would be delicious, but I couldn't stomach it my nerves were so shaky. I felt terrible for Tom. He looked handsome and remorseful all at once. I knew that is was my own overreaction that caused him to appear that way, but it couldn't be helped. No matter how many exercises we'd done with each other, I just wasn't good with the idea of Tom coming near me in that sense._

_I didn't want him to be disappointed with me sexually, and not want me anymore._

_I had never voiced that to him, but it was the truth. His reaction to our intimacy terrified me. I speculated all sorts of disastrous outcomes. What if I wasn't good enough?_

_Naturally I couldn't voice these things to my best friend. Since she'd come to terms with the idea of Tom and me, I promised myself not to burden her with details about him and I. It wasn't right. I knew Baker also couldn't be trusted in this sense, because my sessions now actively included the main source of my anxiety._

_"All right, my love?" He asked as we drank wine in the sitting room. Dinner had been cleaned up nearly twenty minutes ago, and we decided to relax before going to bed._

_"A little nervous,"_

_"That's ok," Tom murmured softly, "you are allowed to be nervous, my sweet... but don't worry, because we are going to take things very slowly."_

_I squinted terrified._

_"What if I want to get it over with... you know, like a band-aid?"_

_Tom's brows furrowed together,_

_"Sweetheart, this is your_ virginity _... it's not something that I take that lightly... it is very important."_

_"I think I would like it if you just-- you know, went in."_

_He shut his eyes painfully, and carefully placed his glass of wine on the table, running his hands through his hair._

_"Fiona, you know better than anyone about the physiological processes of the female body... you need to be_ ready _for me. If not, it can be very painful,"_

_"Please, Tom," I whispered pleadingly._

_Blue eyes washed over me in reverence. I think that perhaps he finally witnessed just how deep my fear ran at that moment._

_The next thing I knew, we were both naked, and he was kissing me and telling me how beautiful I was. His words did allow a certain warmth to rain down on me. His kisses were soft as ever, and now they trailed along my body drawing sighs from me. It did feel rather incredible._

_Tom's naked body was truly a work of art. He was Adonis in the flesh with sculpted muscles and a beautiful erection. I blushed at the thought as I saw it bob from need with moisture at the tip. My eyes shut as I think about how it is going to feel inside of me--good or bad. Bad, most likely. I squeezed my thighs together unknowingly and Tom understood my distress._

_Carefully, he took hold of my upper arms and held me tightly against his chest for a moment. I felt his erection pressing into my body,_

_"Feel me, darling... this is what you make me feel."_

_I shivered involuntarily and he kissed the side of my neck tenderly._

_"I'm ready."_

_He gently placed me on the bed and then crawled over me, pressing kisses along my body in his wake. His hands ghosted over my vagina and I shiver. It felt pleasant enough, but I was still incredibly apprehensive. He reached over to the side table and picked up a small bottle of lubricant he placed there before we undressed. He came very well prepared. Tom poured a small amount of the clear liquid into his palm and then cupped himself, stoking languidly in order to saturate him length in the lube. I watched everything in fixation. I was anticipating something exciting and pleasurable._

_He positions himself at my entrance after sliding his cock up and down, coming in contact with my clitoris. I moaned in excitement and he carefully met my eyes._

_"Fiona, are you absolutely sure you want to do this tonight? We can wait, sweet..." his voice sounded so unsure, and I felt badly that he was so scared of what might happened. I decided to block everything out of my mind and focus on how much I love him._

_"I'm sure, Tom."_

_He nodded._

_"I love you," he whispered as he began to ease himself inside of me..._

__________________________________________

 

I remember screaming. I scream at him so loud that my lungs felt like I had swallowed a mouth full of bleach. Tom shook as he quickly clambered off of me, as I was wracked with tears and accusatory sobs,

 _"You promised you wouldn't hurt me!"_ I'd cried at him. 

I will never forget the way his eyes looked after I said that. They were bright, and mystified. His erection was still painfully obvious, ignored as my outburst terrified the body attached to it. More than anything, he looked so  _hurt_.

But all of those things were merely an afterthought. After Tom had broken through the barrier that kept my virtue in tact, I had freaked out worse than I had in a long time. I had rushed out of the bedroom and into the bathroom where I'd hurled myself into a little ball, screaming at him to get out of my house and never come back. Before tonight, Tom would have crouched down on the outside of the door and slowly coaxed me out with the timbre of his voice. But I had shaken the man who had given so much of himself, and this was perhaps, the final straw. 

I found the blood with a tissue and wailed. It felt so significant to me. It represented the death of something so beautiful that I had loved so fiercely.

With shaking hands, I called Baker and told him what happened. 

' _He hurt me! He hurt me!'_ I had repeated over and over. 

Baker hadn't been able to talk much sense into me and the days tumbled by without hearing from him. 

I wouldn't speak with Emma. It was too painful. As realization seeped in, and I realized how badly I had messed things up, I couldn't bear to see her face and catch traces of Tom in her expression. I had hurt _him_. She was his sister and she had ever right to be angry with me. So at all costs, I avoided her. 

His first message came in the mail on Thursday,  when I remembered to check it. It was in the form of a small USB drive and at first I was confused. I had rushed inside, fired up my computer, and plugged it in. When the driver was identified, I found an audio file labeled,

'My Fiona Girl'

I had opened up the file very bravely, and closed my eyes as his warm voice began to wash over me,

 _"Ah... Fiona,_ " His voices sounded like someone's who'd just finished weeping, and tears instantly sprung to my eyes,  _"_ _There are so many things that I need to tell you, and voice messaging is too risky and short. What if you didn't get the message? You're terrible at that, you know?"_

He gives a shaky, forced laugh,  _"_

 _You've opened yourself up to me so much, my darling Fi... I know that life has been so unfair to you--"_ a giant ugly sob escaped his throat and broke his words,  _"And you let me in... I pushed, and you gave. I can't be angry at you for that. I'm angry at me... I should have known better. I am confidant, Fi... I should have been able to look into your eyes and known! But I was in love with this romantic idea that we could charge past all of the emotional baggage and that love would be enough....I'm so sorry."_

He took another hard breath as if he'd been holding it in,  _"_

 _Fi, I NEVER_   _meant to hurt you. I would rather die than see you in pain and suffering. You were not ready and I knew that... when you begged me, I couldn't say no and that makes me a fucking coward, sweet girl. I should have known better than allow you to take the reins. You are not experienced, my love. You couldn't have known any  different, and I did. Oh, fuck... the look on your face,"_

The line went silent for a while and I wondered whether or not he stopped completely, 

 _"I understand if you are never want to see me again. I find it quite hard to look in the mirrors these days, in fact, but know this, little one-- I still love you. Dr. Baker thinks that you will come around and I hope to god you will, but if these are my parting words, then you must know that I still_ love _you, Fiona Boe. For that I will not be sorry."_

I was pitiful after hearing that message. 

Everything had been lost. I had slipped through his fingers, and he'd slipped from mine. I was no longer his Fiona Girl. 

_________________________________________________

Monday two weeks after my breakdown session with Baker, I am in the market feeling good. I select different items and place them in my basket, when my mobile rings. Emma.

"Hello," I greet, trying to sound pleasant. 

"Fi... what the fuck!" she blasts me from the other end, "I've been trying to get you forever... Jesus. I've tried everyone, everywhere....I need your help."

"What is it?" I ask, trying to mask my irritation with indifference. Emma knows that Tom and I have ended our relationship. When she emailed me three weeks before, I briefly explained that we were not seeing one another and left it at that. 

"T's been off the radar for a few days and mum and I are beginning to worry ourselves sick!"

My chest instantly tightens. Why is she calling me?

"Look, I know you've been in a row with him, but I need you to check up on him in case it is personal... mum hasn't been feeling well, and I am in Ireland with Reg and his fam... Fuck, I am just worried. He's probably just being a twat! Listen, Fi... I know this is asking a lot, but would you please just go? Just pop in and confirm that his head is still on his shoulders..."

I leave my market bag on the nearest empty shelf spot, and catch a taxi to where Tom resides in North London. It's a familiar ride, but my palms are sweating like crazy. This time, it isn't about the taxi driver, but it is about what I've promised to do... I need to check up on Tom. 

Apart of me is worried for him. What did Emma mean when she said that he was off the radar? The thought petrifies me and a mass of morbid images flood my mind, and tears prickle my eyes... not Tom... not my  _Tom_. 

When we arrive at his house, I pay the driver and then get out of the cab slowly. My throat feels dry. I approach the metal gate that seals off access and punch in the numbers deliberately, wondering if he has changed them since I last saw him. Perhaps he has moved on and maybe he is in his bedroom, locked away with some beautiful model, making mad, passionate love to her. The thought makes me sick, and I clutch my coat tighter around my body. I think of the holidays and how we celebrated in his new home with family near. He gifted me with a bright yellow stethoscope and matching surgeons cap, and I had bought him a pair of pair of platinum cufflinks with his initials carved into them in elegant script. We'd been so happy...

Those times seemed to far away now. 

I take a deep breath, the cold air filling my lungs fast, and pass through the now opened gate, and pace up the path to his front door. 

It takes me at least five minutes to knock, and after I do, I feel panic and start to leave, walking quickly down the path, but the sound of the door opening stops me in my tracks, and I hear the whisper of disbelief,

"Fiona?"

I swallow hard and turn to see him. 

Tears cloud my vision instantly. He looks gaunt as if he hasn't had a proper meal since our five month anniversary. His beard has been shaved, and he has black rings around his eyes that make him look older than he is. The roots of his hair are blond, and he is wearing a ratty old pair of track bottoms that he loves, along with a bright red shirt that make his eyes stand out. He is painfully beautiful even though it is very obvious that he's been neglecting himself. 

"Tom," I begin, trying to steady my voice, "hello. Emma sent me to check on you."

His face doesn't shift from disbelief. 

"I'm sorry to intrude--"

"No!" he says quickly, stepping out onto the cold pavers as I turn again. He reaches out and grabs my elbow, and I turn to face him again. "No... you're not intruding... please, you must be freezing-- and you didn't drive. There is a fire, Fi. Please come in and get warm."

Just as he promises, there is a crackling fire in his lounge room. I know he's been habituating that room because I spot things that I know he uses commonly like his laptop, cellphone, and favorite copy of 'King Lear' that he use to read to me when I stayed over during our exercise period with Baker. 

I sit down criss cross applesauce after shedding my coat. Tom has wondered into the kitchen, and I cannot make leave just yet, because I know it is important for him to eat something. He looks so thin. So I tell him that I am a little hungry, and he automatically jets into the kitchen and leaves me to warm by the fire. 

When he comes back, he has a tray full of sandwiches and a mug of coco. 

"Tom..." I start to say as he sits across from me, holding up a slice of turkey and brie for me. His eyes gleam with hope.

"Yes?"

"Are you ok? You don't look too good right now... have you been sleeping?"

He smiles very sadly at the question.

"Not very much,"

"I'm sorry," I tell him. He looks at me strangely. 

"Me too."

"I told you that I was fucked up. Why haven't you been answering your sister?"

His shoulders slack,

"She isn't very happy with me right now,"

"And Diana?"

"Mum isn't, either...."

"Oh, Tom."

"I can't stop thinking about you, Fi... please give me another chance," Tom's voice is soft and pleading and nearly makes me hunch over in pain. I never imagined emotional pain to cut this deeply, but it does. My eyes water badly. 

"Tom--baby,  _eat_ , please... you look sick!"

He smiles sadly and a single tears rolls from his cheek. 

"I'm not hungry, Fiona. I just need to hold you again..."

"Tom," I choke on a sob, "Tom...come here," I feel emotion sweep over me in droves as he obediently rises from his place and comes right next to me. I don't care about form as I wrap my arms around his thinning torso and squeeze him tightly, my eyes shut and leaking with sadness.

We sit there together like that with me holding onto my precious man and time seems infinite. Everything in the world is insignificant as he hiccups my name and his eyes sag, his body melting into mine.

I become the comforter. Even if it is for these brief moments, I comfort my man.

I press a kiss against his head and my eyes are salty with emotions.

"I love you," I whisper. "I am so sorry for everything that happened."

Tom's body tenses as I speak these words. He looks up from where he had been resting soundly, his cheek pressed against my clavicle.

"You love me?" his voice is untrusting.

"Yes!" I reply with a shrill cry, "I hate myself, but I _love_ you...." 

His arms band around me so fast it feels as if a stonewall is blocking me in. Then the tears become real and begin to pour our of my eyes. Tom's tears saturate the top of my head as he grieves for all of the pain that we have both felt. He rocks me slowly back and forth and murmurs in my ear. I can hear his pain woven carefully in each syllable that he's chosen. I never want to let him go. 

"I'm sorry," I repeat, over and over. He won't hear it though, because he is too busy saying the same thing. 

A few hours later and we are tucked into each other. I've slid my legs in between his own, and he is pressing his hand against the small of my back as if to keep me in place where I recline on his chest. We haven't said much. After we finally detangled off of the lounge room floor, we go into the kitchen for more substantial food, and I watch him carefully as he nearly eats his entire refrigerator, his appetite coming back with a vengeance. 

Then we share wine, and decide that we are both exhausted. I forget to call Emma, but it is ok, because my beautiful man is safe, and for now, I am his Fiona Girl. 

"I'm never giving up on you, Fi," he whispers sleepily. 

"Tom," I murmur back, "I want to try again."

His body tenses as I say this. 

"I want you to make love to me...the way you would if I was normal,"

"Fiona," he warns,

"Please... I need this. More than you know,"

I wasn't expecting to rehash this tonight, but since the incident when I lost my virginity to him, I had thought about how that night could have gone if I hadn't pressed him for something stupid. Would it have been soft and tender? Would he have worshipped me? I dreamed about the way he would feel. Now I needed to make that a reality. I needed to know before we progressed any further that we were sexually compatible with one another, and that I would be able to please him the way he'd emotionally satisfied me. 

Tom's lips glide over mine in the first kiss we have shared since reconciliation. He is delicate as he tugs at my lips and nips carefully, drawing a moan from me. 

"My way this time," he pleads. 

I nod, completely releasing power to him.

"Fiona, it will sting again,"

"The worst is over... and I am in love with you," I glance at him and wink cheekily. "I'm ready for you, Tom...please make me yours."

_____________________________________________________

Laying in the sheets afterward, allowing only his skin to provide warmth for me, I am feeling more blissed out and relaxed than I have in quite some time. A soft smile is perched on my lips as I recall bits and pieces of what happened over the course of the last hour as Tom Hiddleston made love to me for the first time. My toes curls a bit, and a quiet giggle escapes and alerts Tom to my current state of wakefulness.

"That is suppose to wear you out, my love," he teases playfully, his voice relaxed and languid as he spoons me, a new position that I adore. I feel every naked bit of him and I close my eyes relishing in the fact that all of it belongs to  _me_.

Once I had let go and surrounded to my body's instinct instead of its fear, I was radiating passion and channeling in every ounce of sensual pleasure that he gave and reciprocated. He touched me intimately, and made me shriek his name in surprise and delicious need. Then when we joined again, he held me tightly as my body adjusted, keeping a careful watch of my eyes to make sure we did not have a repeat performance of our first attempt.

There was no repeat. We sat up and I moved in his lap, trying to adjust to the pleasure that being so full had brought to my overly tender body. I rocked with Tom and asserted control. When my face contorted with that new and dangerous pleasure, the coil sprang and Tom and I both lost ourselves to the sensation of our completion.  

"How can I sleep when I am so happy?"

He chuckles softly and pressed a warm kiss against my shoulder blade.

"I love you, Fiona,"

"I love you, Tom."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't want to get too graphic when they finally do end up being intimate.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short "morning after" scene. Enjoy Xx.

I wake the next morning with a slow stretch, my muscles aching from the previous night. 

Oh, but it was  _so_ worth it. 

I can't believe that I have been missing out on something that beautiful all of this time. Perhaps it is just Tom. I really have nothing to compare it to. Emma is my best friend, but I know very well that she would not appreciate me divulging stories of my very first intimate encounter due to the fact that her brother was my partner and the man who took my virginity. 

I never thought that this existed. I thought that love like this was mythical, or if it  _was_ real, than it wasn't for a women like me...not with my problem. But it was real and true, because I am laying nestled in Tom's arms, and he is snoring softly into my shoulder, little puffs of air tickling me. I feel giddy and I want to call Baker and tell him. We did it! I know that my joy is inconsequential to a  _normal_ person, but there is a culmination of different things that have happened that makes this moment so special. 

Just yesterday I was in the market trying to move on after the nightmare from our first attempt. I had warded Tom off, and assumed that he never wanted to see me again because I was insane. 

 _"Fiona!"_ I can almost hear Baker scold me for my deprecation. 

When I had found him in his home, looking so tired and hopefully, something bloomed in my chest and I realized that I would do anything for Tom. I was in possession of strong,  _selfless_ love, and it was for him in particular. Our months together had left me so different. Having his companionship and faithfulness was something that I couldn't articulate. I never imagined being worthy of something so raw and tender. So, last night I decided that I didn't want to be afraid anymore. I didn't want to have any more excuses and pain. What was even more was my  _need_ to be with him physically. I had never experienced it as strongly as I had last night. And once my initial nervousness diminished and I let myself go, it had been paradisiacal. 

I thought surely my nerves would hold me back from orgasm, but I reached that peak  _several_ times in  _several_ ways. I blush at the memory. Climaxing felt so good, too. It wasn't overrated. If anything, it was  _underrated_ for women. And to be in love--oh, it was so beautiful. 

"Hhmm," I hear Tom's muffled voice groan beside me. I decide to shift and turn my face towards him. This isn't really like the movies. There are no pillars of sunlight streaming on his handsome face. Instead there is a steady patter of rain outside of his bedroom window, and the room is still pretty dim. It is perfect for me, though. I can see him. He's beautiful. "Good morning, my darling,"

"Morning," I greet shyly, watching him through my lashes as he smiles with his eyes closed. Jesus, sex really does good things for a man's mood and temperament!

"How are you feeling?"

I blush when I realize what exactly he is referring to in his inquiry. 

"A little sore," I admit, "but it's good... I don't know how to describe it... it definitely good,"

He opens his eyes, and blinks away the sleep, smiling tenderly at me. I nearly pass out. I giggle.

"What? Have a grown a wart?"

"No," I sigh, pillowing my head against my hands so I am snuggly pressed against him with enough room to truly look at him. "You're just so beautiful, Tom..."

A tender smile lights up his face and touches his eyes. He reaches out a hand and presses his palm against the side of my face. 

"Not nearly as beautiful as you, Fiona girl," his lips caressed the tip of my nose and trail up to my forehead, "I am pitifully in love with you."

"Me too."

We hold each other for long moments, enjoying the silence and that rain. I have to be at the hospital soon, and he needs to get in contact with his worried family. But right then, we are content to just lay. 

When we do finally get up, he observes my naked body, and for once, I am not ashamed. There is a small patten of pink bit marks trailing over my chest. I'm very proud of them, and I tell him this. Tom's hair is ruffled from my attentions, and he has ten half-moon indents on his hips where I firmly held him in place lash night, striving for purchase while he moved inside of me. He settles his hands on his hips and exclaims that he is just as proud and they are his love marks. 

We shower together. I can't help the desire that over comes me, and when Tom settles me on his hips holding me upright in the rather spacious shower, I slowly sink onto him, and rock us into an oblivion. Our pleasure is so intense that we have to sit down on the shower floor for a few minutes to regain strength. I can't help but think to myself that I want to do this everyday-- every morning, every afternoon, every night.... I  _always_ want this. Tom is shaking when he runs a hand through my hair and presses a reverent kiss against the crown of my head. There is a tinge of satisfaction inside of me that I can render him this helpless. He is mine just as much as I am his. 

In the kitchen, he keeps me distracted from the 'cooker' while he makes us a full English fry up. I grow apprehensive of all of the working burners and decide that I need fresh air outside. I am dressed warmly, and Tom understand. His kisses my cheek and tells me that it will be over shortly. I nod and give him a smile. I know it will. 

He calls me in when our food is ready, and he's been considerate enough not to serve it in the kitchenette where he has a more casual set, and instead serves it in the dining room. He's outdone himself with delicious, steaming food, orange juice, tea for himself, and coffee for me. It smells absolutely delightful. He pulls out my chair and makes certain that I am seated. I steady my mounting nerves and close my eyes for a moment. Something inside of my head is pleading with me to go in and check. The more rational part of my brain demands that I stay put, and that I fight the overpowering urge. I am safe. I am with Tom. He is responsible. I do  _not_ need to check. 

"Darling?"

"I'm sorry... it's just really hard."

He understands immediately. 

"I don't want to go in there."

"Be strong, Fi..." he whispers a bit helplessly. I know this is a struggle for him too. During the early stages of our dating he would always go with me on checks and satisfy my need to know that everything that could possibly be hazardous was carefully stowed or unplugged. After a few session with Baker, though, he stopped. Baker explained that he was enabling me by allowing me to continue with unhealthy rituals, and that if I was going to get any better, then he would have to let me suffer. 

"Ok," I breathe deeply, and look down at my plate. I decide to distract myself, "so. How has work been?" I ask.

"I am actually going to New York for a meeting with a director this weekend," his cheeks grow wide in excitement, "Jim Jarmusch....can you fucking believe that, my love? Jim Fucking Jarmusch!"

"That's amazing, Tom!" I tell him excitedly, "why didn't you say something earlier?"

His face fell.

"Oh... I suppose this is the first time I've really felt excitement for it..." his vivid blue eyes look crestfallen as he speaks. I feel sharp pain stab my heart as I remember how difficult this has been for the two of us. I reach my hand out and he squeezes gently. "I'm sorry, love."

"Don't...don't apologize. We made it, didn't we? We made love, Tom... getting there was hard, and it hurt the both of us, but I wouldn't trade in this feeling for anything..." I tell him truthfully. 

"I am so glad that you feel that way, Fi... I really can't tell you how much I love you. But you're right. I don't want to think about any of that stuff anymore. Today is new...and beautiful,"

"It is," I agree. 

I don't think about the stove anymore throughout our meal. No, I am too focused on how  _beautiful_ today is. 

 

___________________________________________________

 

Tom and I both fit room into our schedules that afternoon to be seen by Baker. 

He knows as soon as he greets us, and when we are seated, and he is grinning like a baboon, I roll my eyes and sigh at him.

"How?" I demand. Tom chuckles and scoots closer to me. I let him.

"Look at your face!" Baker bursts, "have you seen your own face today, Fiona? You are bloody sunshine. I've  _never_ seen you this happy..."

I can't stop myself and I am grinning before I know how to come properly come back. 

"Tom," he muses with leftover traces of amusement at my reaction, "how are you feeling today?"

"I've never been better...truly," he glances down at me, "everything was wonderful. She really put all of her faith into me and I can't really describe what that meant to me-- _means_ to me."

I offer him my hand and he interlocks our fingers.

"Fiona, is this true? Can you say that after last night, was it?" Tom blushes with a nod, "Last night then, that you trust Tom?"

"Yes," my eyes water. I can't help it, "I feel so badly about what happened. I think I can really see the way I made Tom feel now, and it is horrible. I love him so much, and the way I was... god,"

Tom put his arm around me and pulls me into his embrace without a second thought. He drops a kiss on the crown of my head and sits there with me in silence as the waves of remorse and emotion I felt wash over me. 

"We talked about this just this morning," Tom murmurs to Baker, "we decided to leave all of this behind. I think sometimes she forgets that I am in on this whole thing. I may not understand what is going on up there, but I am here for her emotionally. Fi, baby.... I fucked up that night. I allowed you to take too much control when I was more experienced and knew better. For that, I apologize. It caused us both tremendous and unnecessary pain,"

Baker smile slyly,

"I like this guy,"

"Me too," I whisper, looking up at Tom. I press a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth, and he smiles tenderly at me. 

"Love you, darling."

"Love you, too."


	9. Chapter 9

I'm sweaty and out of breath lying on my boyfriend's chest, while his arms band around me for an intimate cuddle. 

I've missed him. 

He's been in New York for two weeks, and as new lovers, it felt like a century. As soon as he arrived from the airport, I jumped him. 

Me, Fiona... I  _jumped_ my man.  _  
_

He was just as surprised when he peeled my clothing off to find sexy lingerie underneath. His eyes had found mine in a flicker of amusement and lust. It had been a beautiful sight. I had a lover.

"That was incredible," Tom breathes, a grin on his face and one of his free hands cup my breast and then slide down my waist, "I take it then, that you've missed me?"

"Mhm. Stick around for a while, T. I like this whole sex thing."

He erupts in laughter that makes his breathing become so labored that he sits up and continues to chortle away. I blush. Should I not have said that? He notices my embarrassment and immediately tugs me close against him. He presses his cheek against the crown of my head,

"Don't be shy, Fi,"

"I'm getting better," I say, "I thought about  _you_ so much these past weeks, that it really hasn't been very badly. Nothing drastic."

"I'm proud of you, love... I'm proud of the extraordinary lengths that you've gone to in order to free yourself."

"Love is magic, T."

He snuggles the both of us back into the bed and shifts so that he is spooning me. Warm whispers float through the room for a while, while he tells me about his trip. He worked on some promotion of a new film and also met with Jarmusch. He describes him to me in a cool, adoring way that makes me sigh. Tom truly is happy right now-- he's content and that in turn makes  _me_ content. I've always heard that love is fifty fifty, but I think that's a lie. Sometimes he gives more for me, and sometimes I give more for him. That's  _true_ love.

____________________________________________________________

We go to see Em for dinner that night. We've made dessert and picked up a bottle of wine. Since the frantic phone call three weeks before, she'd seen her friend very little, and for a good reason, too. Reg had proposed. While in Ireland with his family, he dropped down on one knee in his childhood bedroom and produced and beautiful engagement ring. She'd called me late that night to tell me all about it. Naturally, I had to detangle myself from a nosey Thomas, and sit on the bathroom floor listening to my best friend nearly cry with excitement. It was wonderful. 

 _'I can't believe she'd call you before me,_ _'_ Tom told me grouchily as I settled back into his arms. He was exhausted, and not nearly as fun to poke fun at, so I simply dropped a kiss against his stubbly jaw and told him that I loved him. It worked. He promptly fell asleep once more. 

Now, joining her for a small, intimate dinner party, I giggle as we drive down the road.

"What?" Tom asks me curiously, eyes drifting from the road, to me and back.

"We're having a double date,"

He rolls his eyes at me.

"We don't do  _double dates_ here, Fi, we have posh dinner parties with exquisite alcohol and inappropriate jokes." 

I chortle at him and roll my eyes.

"We should host one evening. Seems like Em has all of the fun."

I lower my eyes, declining to respond to the proposal, and he instantly realizes why.

"Why can speak to Dr. Baker about it beforehand, turn it into an exercise. I think it would be fabulous, darling.... then afterward, when everyone goes home," he slides his hand over my bare knee, "I will lay you out on the table and we will have amazing, recreational sex,"

"Consecutive orgasms?" I murmur skeptically,

" _Consecutive orgasms_ ," he confirms wickedly, squeezing my leg. 

I decide to give it a try. 

When we arrive, Reg greets us excitedly. For a moment I am stiff as a board thinking he may forget that I don't like to be touched, and try to embrace me, but he doesn't and he smiles warmly,

"Hello, Fiona."

"Reg. Congratulations," I tell him shyly. 

"Thanks, darling."

Reg greets Tom next and embraces him with a firm clap on the back.

Careful, Reg! I want to say, He's mine!

"You're marrying my baby sister," Tom offers wistfully. Reg nods happily. I've never seen him this happy. 

"Not torturing him are you, broomhead?" 

Emma's voice is strangely therapeutic to me. I don't realize until she walks through the door that I miss her terribly. She spies Tom and I. He's got his arm around my shoulders and he squeezes gently during her inspection. Tom feels her scrutiny as well and there is a battle of stares that transpires. Perhaps she realizes that we've advanced in our relationship. When Tom and I had first started dating, he was very careful not to overstep his boundaries with me. He knew that I was still timid and not accustomed to that sort of thing. To have this open display of affection was a shift in the dynamics for everyone. 

"Won't dream of it,"

Is that his way of saying 'we're square, Em'?

I go to her, and hug her hard. She squeezes back and smells like vanilla and coconut. I say a prayer of thanks for Emma. She has been my lifeline, and responsible for so much joy. My only friend in London and here she is, nearly a married woman. My surge of happiness is easily reflected in my lover's eyes. When Em moves to embrace him, he is smiling so reverently at his sister as if she causes the sun to sparkle in the sky each day. He folds her tightly into his arms and whispers something in her ear. I look away feeling that it is their private moment.

"What's for dinner?" Tom asks once all of our mushy introductions are over. He comes back to me and cups my shoulder with an arm securely around my back. I bet Baker would have something to say about his constant need to touch me. Maybe I'll ask...not that it bothers me. 

"Lamb tagine with veg and prawn salad," Emma answers from the kitchen. "It's all nearly finished,"

The last time I was here for a dinner party, I burned my fingers on the stove top in order to make sure the heat was off and that everything had cooled down. I am trying tremendously to pull away from those thoughts, but the challenge is great and I make small indents in my palms. I wish we were eating outside. I know that we can't, because it is freezing, but I still wish we were. I just need to stay out of the kitchen. I will be fine then. 

"Would you like a glass of wine?" Reg offers.

"Yes, that would be lovely... here, we've brought some pudding and wine for later," Tom hands over the bag and then Reg disappears. Tom turns to face me so that he can be sure I will make eye contact. He realizes that if we don't make eye contact, then his words are just filter right through. Right now his beautiful blue gaze is worried. "What can I do to help you right now?"

I don't know the answer. I feel a tight bubble in my chest and the anxiety is mounting to the point where my eyes water. I feel ridiculous, but I don't bother to shield myself from Tom. We are past that. 

"There isn't anything to buffer it over. I literally just have to get over it," I whisper. Tom's eyes are pained. I know that this hurts him. "I'm trying. I really am,"

"Oh, I know, my love. You have been extraordinary. I just want to steal all of your pain, Fiona. I don't like to see you like this."

I offer him a small smile.

"The wine might help smooth things over... calm me down. Right now I am just anxious and it would be much better if I had something to do."

His eyes go bright and he smiles.

"I have an idea,"

He drags me from from the foyer and into the sitting room where we first watched Jurassic Park together months ago. We stand in front of Emma's impressive DVD collection, and he reaches out and takes an armful of them and spills the contents to the sofa. I gasp in horror as he returns for more.

"Tom, what the hell are you doing?"

"Emma always said that it would be much easier to find these movies if they were alphabetized. So let's do that while she finishes supper."

My shoulders slump and I smile at his attempts to distract me. Bouncing up on my tippy toes, I kiss him chastely. 

"Thank you, baby."

We spend the next twenty minutes singing the alphabet over and over with Tom reminiscing on the different films that he loved, and those that he hated. I'm use to him going on about movies. it is entirely him. 

When Emma comes out into the dining room with starters, we stand, and then take our places. We've each been through half a glass of wine so far. I'm feeling relaxed and light. Tom sits next to me, and we dig into our salads the moment that everyone is seated. The talk around the table surrounds the upcoming nuptials. Emma wants a spring wedding, which will give us less than a year to plan. Reg and Tom both tune out the girl talk as we chatter excitedly together. They mumble every once in a while to show participation, but we know better.

The tagine is wonderful. What's even more wonderful is that Tom is sliding his leg purposefully along my calf, giving me jolts of electricity and desire. He texts me during the meal, and I nearly choke once I read it,

'We'll go to yours tonight... closer. If I wait any longer, I am going to take you on the bonnet of the car in the middle of the street, Fiona girl.'

"All right?" Reg asks as I sputter for a moment. Tom smiles tightly, rubbing his hand in circles on my lower back. 

"Yeah, just a patient update."

He presses a tender kiss against my temple and Emma rolls her eyes,

"God, you both make me sick."

I stick my tongue out playfully. 

"Shut it. I've dealt with you and Reg for years!"

"He's my bloody brother!" Emma laughs. Tom rolls his eyes. 

"Pay no mind to Em's prattle. She's a bit delusional after a few glasses."

_________________________________________________________

The night remains lighthearted. We have dessert and another glass of wine before Emma and Reg start to get a bit too touchy feely for mine and Tom's comfort. We bow out gracefully, once again congratulating the happy couple. I make plans to see Emma for breakfast in the upcoming week so we can look at some wedding things together. When she is hugging me as we leave, she asks me to be her chief bridesmaid. I'm daft for a moment, and then it clicks. Maid of honor. I hug her again as I accept, and say a silent prayer for everything good in life. My best friend is happy and in love. There is no greater thing. 

I sit in the passenger's seat on the ride to my place and watch London drift by. I wear a dreamy expression on my face. The street lights are twinkling and there are people walking around everywhere. London is a dream, and it hasn't truly felt like home until this very moment. I glance down at where Tom his holding my hand and feel the familiar sensation blast through my body like a freight train. I love him. I want to spend all of my time with him...whether we are organizing DVD's or making love in the early morning, I just want to exist where he is. 

"You're unusually quiet," he murmurs in observation.

"I'm grateful for you," I tell him honestly. Baker and I have talked about this. He tells me that it is very important to be forthcoming with Tom so he can gage my levels, emotions... I can't remember what else he said. He eluded to the fact that Tom might not always know where we stand on an emotional and temporal level. It made me wonder if they had spoken about that in one of their few individual sessions. 

"Fuck," he says slowly, "Fiona." My name sounds like pure agony on his lips, "Why do you tell me those things while I am unable to kiss or  _hold_ you,"

I smile tenderly. 

"Just tell me you love me."

He's silent.

"Move in with me, Fi."

When I don't answer straight away, he begins to plead his case.

"It's simply that I want to spend every moment possible with you. We were together when I moved into the new house and to me it feels like you are apart of everything inside of it... I need you there, Fiona."

"Tom, that is asking me a lot all at once. Maybe we should save big stuff like this for Baker..." I whisper hesitantly. He lets out a low sigh,

"So that's not a decline... it's a postpone, right?"

"Right."

"I can live with that,"

"But can you live with me?" I mutter with sarcasm. He chuckles and brings my hand to his lips,

"Saucy thing. Oh the things I'm going to do to you when I get you naked."

"Promise?"

"Promise." 

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is rather short, but I will make it up to my faithful readers in the next chapter! Enjoy.

It's Thursday. 

That's all I can really think about right now.

It's Thursday and I am cold. 

My phone rings incessantly but I cannot manage to pick myself up off of this tiled floor to answer it. No-- I'm  _hurting_ too badly. Baker always says that I need to be more accepting of myself when I am hurt. He says that particular emotion tends to make me weak or disgusted in myself. I don't feel those things right now. No, right now it is Thursday. 

My phone continues to ring, and eventually I habituate to it, drawing my knees close to my chest and letting the flow of water caress my skin and the goose flesh that has risen in its wake. My eyes are wide, and my chin rests against my neatly folded hands.

I lost her.

Lost. Lost. Lost.

"Fiona!"

I scream in terror as Tom's familiar voice jolts my from my repetitious thoughts and his face is now inside of my shower, overwhelming me with his blue eyes and recently tanned skin. My heart races at the momentary terror, and I hug myself tighter, casting my eyes downwards, too ashamed to look at him the way I am right now. He is too perfect, and I fear that my abnormality will some how taint him. Then every one will hate me and take away their kind smiles and warm wishes. Diana will no longer kiss my head and tell me that I'm everything good for her boy. Emma's eyes will no longer glow with secret approval. Everything will be destroyed if I ruin this man with my problems.

I can sense him. He crouches in front of me like a concerned father would with his child. He does not reach out to touch me, but when droplets of water hit his skin, his eyes flash in pain as he realizes what I've done to myself. He reaches up and turns the faucet left so that now a steady stream of warm water falls on me. 

"Baby," he whispers softly. I can't look at him. 

I lost her. 

He recognizes defeat, but refuses to accept it. 

 _I'm not giving up on you, Fi_.

I remember his words perfectly as he steps into my little shower, still wearing his jeans and sweater, and falls to the floor beside me, not even hesitating to awkwardly take my shivering body into his arms, and nestling me against his chest as I begin to sob. 

My sobbing is uncontrollable. Tom doesn't try to control it. He lets it go and rubs my back, not saying a single thing, but keeping me holed up against him so that I realize I am not alone in my despair. He only shifts every so often to increase the temperature of the water. We're both drenched, but I don't care, because  _I lost her_. 

When the water finally runs cold, and Tom can no longer shift the dial, he turns it off, and suddenly everything can be heard due to the echo of the tile walls and floor. He patiently moves hair out of my face and his index finger deftly tips my chin upwards towards his magnificent eyes. They shimmer with a new brand of concern, but are still clouded with a deep love that belongs to me. 

"We need to change, my love. You are cold and you could become ill."

"You're cold, too," I tell him. My voice sounds foreign to me. It's croaky and small. Tom blinks back a tired smile.

"I have pajamas here, remember?"

Oh, yes. How could I forget the day that Tom asked if he could leave some clothing at my flat so that he could stay longer and not have to worry about rushing home to get ready? It was terrifying, but liberating. It meant that I could burry my nose into his bare skin in the mornings for a more luxurious amount of time. When it was me spending the night at his, we never worried, because I always kept scrubs in my car. We called them sex scrubs. 

He stands and reaches his hands out to collect me from the ground. I don't know what comes over me, but the moment I am standing, emotion floods over me once more and I begin to cry in a manner that sounds as if I am hyperventilating. It feels so good to cry in front of him. He is going to think I am fucking crazy, but the emotional catharsis is too good to turn down. 

Only this time I am mumbling into his chest, and it isn't until he asks me 'who' that I realize I've said something telling. 

"Who have you lost, darling? Who?"

"Valerie." I whisper. 

His hands that have been trying to quickly dry me off, still very suddenly as he understands what has happened. I try to remember when I'd mentioned my patient to him, but clearly I have, because he's yanking me back into his arms roughly and their is a guttural moan of agony that escapes his throat. He's hurting  _with_ me. 

"Oh, my love," he breaths deeply, his eyes closed tightly, "oh  _god_! I didn't answer your call.... oh god, Fiona," he tortures himself while I cling to his wet sweater. He's has soaked my dry towel and we are standing in a puddle of water. I cling to him, so grateful that he understands my pain.

We comfort each other and soon, Tom is shivering. 

I detangle from him, sniffing, and refuse to look up and see his eyes. I don't want the image of my devastatingly strong man to be tarnished with his emotions. It's unfair of me, I know, but it is true. I do admire his emotions, though, on every level. 

I fetch a towel that has become his. It's black and fluffy and wraps around him perfectly. I place it on the sink and carefully begin to work on getting him undressed. First his sweater, then his jeans. He's not wearing underwear. He doesn't like them when he is just 'day-to-day' he says. As a physician I warn him about chafing, but as I lover, I am turned on by it. He's not turned on right now. I've never seen him nude and flaccid. It's a new experience. Usually he is about to make love to me when he is naked in my presence. But right now, out of respect and mutual suffering, his anatomy remains limp. 

I dry him manually, and once I am finished, I wrap the towel around his waist and we both walk into my bedroom. I see that he's kicked his shoes off by the door. I have carpet in my bedroom and he knows better. His jacket has to be downstairs. Tom is always bundled up in this type of weather. 

We both change into comfort clothing. For me it is a pair of leggings and a long sleeve t-shirt, and for him, it is flannels and a thermal shirt. I am temporarily distracted. That thermal is wonderful. Not just because of the way that it stretches across his chest, but because of the way it feels at night when I am gathered tightly against him. There is no greater thing. I am distracted by my distraction when he settles his hands on my shoulders and bends his head down so that we are at eye level. 

"I'm going to order in some food and make us some tea. Pizza?"

I nod absently and he kisses my forehead tenderly and brings his lips to my ear, 

"Everything is going to be ok, Fiona."

______________________________________________________________________________

Pizza comes and we sit across from each other on my living room floor, and eat in silence. I'm not ready to talk yet, and thankfully, he gets that. Every once in a while, his hand rubs my ankle soothingly. Just his presence alone has comforted me so greatly. How could I ever possibly explain that to him?

We clean and then go upstairs. It's late, and I am feeling clingy. I want him to hold me. 

"Tom," I murmur shyly as we make the stairs, "I know that--" I trail off, getting flustered at myself. "It's just... I don't want to neglect your  _needs_."

"Fiona," he says sternly, halting my rambling and successfully bringing me to a standstill. We're close to the top of the stairs but I don't move another fraction. "I do not make it a habit to try and make love to my girlfriend when she is distressed."

Oh.

I've offended him. 

We walk the rest of the way and when we both slid into bed, rigidly at opposite ends, I shudder and quickly find his body, hugging him so tightly that I am sure it is painful.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, T. I just don't know these things... I'm just out of it. Please don't be upset,"

"Come here, silly girl," he sighs, shifting into a more comfortable position. I take full advantage of the thermal and huddle myself into his arms while he holds me at an exquisite pressure, enough to make me feel the security that I need. "Tell me about Valerie, Fiona. Tell me so that we can mourn and let her go..."

I sniffle softly at his reasoning. 

"She was tachycardic for a while. It means her heart rate would speed up. Her reaction to the chemo was bad... she couldn't eat. She's been losing so much weight that we had to put a tube in. Then..." I take a steadying breath, "she went in her sleep."

"Thank goodness," he admonishes reverently, as if he is thanking god that she didn't have to suffer anymore. "Fiona, there is another angel in heaven tonight."

I am silent and so is he. Talking about Valerie has made me feel better. 

"I love you," he whispers to me. "Close your eyes and try to rest, baby. I'm here if you need me."

"Thank you," my voice is filled with tears as speak to him. 

"Shh," he strokes the back of my head and keeps me close.

As I close my eyes, I think of God. I say a pray, one that it silent and only meant for me and the supreme being. I thank him for taking Valerie in such a way that didn't hurt her, and I thank him for the man in my bed. I thank him for choosing someone like Tom to love and understand me. 

 _Amen_.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Baker is listening to me blubber like a baby about how happy I am. He's smiling like a lunatic, and I am not sure why he seems just as happy as me. Is that how psychiatrists are? Are their patients victories their victories as well? 

I've been in a committed relationship for an entire year! Tom and I have been lovers for seven months, and two weeks ago, a moving truck carried all of my things into his beautiful new home--  _our_ new home. I had agreed. It was a very tough decision, but after deliberating for months, and torturing my poor man, I relented, and decided that it was unhealthy fear that had been holding me back. I was in love with Tom and wanted to share my life with him the same way he wanted to share his with me. It also didn't make sense to have two houses when we never spent the nights apart from each other. I asked Baker if that was normal, and he said that it was actually better than what a lot of couples like us experienced. The only time we slept apart was when Tom was out of town or country on a job, or when I was working late shifts at the hospital. 

"How is Emma's wedding coming along?" Baker asks, his smile still lingering as I dab my eyes. 

"We got into the other day over flowers.... she wants these exotic flowers that I told her would end up wilting before they even arrived. I don't know...the closer it gets to the day the crazier she is."

"Probably anxiety," Baker sympathizes. "Fi, I know you and Tom are getting serious and I wanted to talk about what your future looks like,"

"My future?" I repeat dumbly. He nods. "Well, I guess it involves Tom... I love him,"

"Do you think you will both get married some day?"

My face pales,

"I don't know if he thinks of me  _that_ way," I bite my bottom lip, a small twinge of anxiety curling inside of me as he mentions this. Tom wouldn't want to marry  _me..._ would he?

Baker gives a short laugh,

"You are  _living_ together, Fiona. I am sure he thinks of you more permanently that you assume," Baker's eyes twinkle, as if my own self-discovery amuses him greatly. I want to roll my eyes and scoff at him, but I can't, because I am too surprised by the way I feel right now.

"He hasn't...said anything, has he?"

"Fi, you know I am not allowed to talk about things like that. Big picture only, my dear. Your sessions are as private as his are. Perhaps we can talk about it during one of your joint sessions,"

The way Baker talks about it, makes it sound as if we support his entire practice. I blush at the thought. 

"Actually, I'd rather not. I don't want to sound like one of those insane women that needs to be married. We're good right now. We're making soup tonight!" I tell him cheerfully, hopping to change the subject. I am actually very excited about the soup. We've been planning it as apart of my exposure response prevention therapy all week. I was putting him off for the longest time, but he finally made me commit to a date via oral sex torture. Tom knew exactly how to get his way with me. 

Baker decides that it is the end for us. He wants a full report on Thursday when I am due to see him again. He tells me to give Tom his best, and that he is proud of all of the progress I am making. 

I leave with similar pride buzzing through me.

_____________________________________________________________________

As discussed, Tom meets me at a market close to the house so we can go shopping for ingredients for tonights dinner that we will prepare  _together_. We haven't invited anyone, deciding that this experiment should be tried just between the two of us to start in case things turn bad. I have been very good for a while now, my nighttime rituals become more and more scarce, and my overall anxiety diminishing more and more each day. Baker jokes that Tom was my  _cure_. Secretly, I think so too.

"Hello, my darling," he greets, as he finds me in front of the store. He's cold, but slips his hand from his pocket to cup my cheek as he kisses me tenderly in greeting, "how was your appointment?"

"Good," I smile as we walk into the shop. "he says good luck tonight,"

Tom chuckles, but I know he is nervous. This is big...nearly as big as it was when we first had sex. That was another level of nerves, though. Poor Tom. I look at him sympathetically as I remember our first time trying. 

"We are going to be magnificent, baby. And you know what is going to happen afterwards? If we do well?" he hikes his eyebrow up and I swallow hard. 

"Full body?"

" _Full body_ ," his voice is absolutely laden with lust and promise. His incentive is very alluring, indeed.

"You are so devious, Thomas. One of these days I am going to learn how to get the sexual upper hand," 

He laughs shortly and kisses my forehead,

"I'm amused that you don't realize that you  _do_ have the upper hand, darling. Ooh, biscuits!" 

His comment makes me glow, and I ignore how many packets of hobnobs he throws into our basket. I lean into him casually, he places his arm around me as he wonder through the rows of food. This feels good and normal.

"How was your meeting with the costume designer?" I ask him in regards to a new project he is doing. He's tremendously excited to finally be doing on-screen Shakespeare. He rehearses with me all of the time. Sometimes he sits by the bath and recites his lines with dipping his fingers into the water and drawing figure eights through the ripples. Other times, he will entice me to listen with a foot massage. It's heaven to the second power. Tom's alluring voice, coupled with his strong, gifted hands...I swoon just thinking about it.

"It was great! She's got some good ideas... they are going to swarth me in leather,"

"See if you can bring it home for a night," I wink at him smartly. He laughs too loud and people look at us making my cheeks flush. Tom may not be a household name yet, but he is certainly climbing up the popularity latter, and I am not sure I want to share him yet. 

"Chicken noodle, I think. Mum has taught me how to make an  _amazing_ chicken noodle."

"Sounds yummy,"

We scavenge the store for ingredients, and like Baker suggests, Tom keeps me aware of everything while doing so. He reminds me of what everything is being used for and how it will be prepared, that way, when we get into the kitchen, there will be no surprise elements. 

We end up doing a bit of general grocery shopping and then check out and leave, each in separate cars.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The house is beautiful, and it still gives me chills each time I pull into the drive. Knowing that Tom and I share this place as our own is so intimate and powerful that it makes our relationship all the more real to me. He has been my first everything. Sometimes it plagues my mind to think of what it might be like if he were to suddenly be tired of me and decide that he wants a woman with experience who can please him in ways that I can't. It's a challenge that I've been dealing with lately. Do I satisfy him sexually? Over the course of our seven months as lover's, we've explored each other thoroughly, but I am not sure if I am enough. Nurses at the hospital discuss their sexual intrigues all of the time. They talked about domination, and punishments. What if my Tom is a dark horse and I am not fulfilling enough for him sexually. 

I knit my brows together wonder where the hell all of this is coming from. Today is going to be a good day. Tom and I are going to make chicken noodle soup, and everything was going to be fine. 

I help him unpack the ingredients in the kitchen, and then he suggests that we get comfortable before we start. 

Upstairs, while I am pulling on a cotton shift dress, Tom come up behind me in ratty joggers in a t-shirt, and embraces me. 

"Hi,"

"Hi," I whisper back, enjoying the feeling of him pulling my back against his chest, and the weight of his chin on my shoulder. 

"Nervous?"

"Not really," I admit, "I've been thinking about other things... Baker and I had a good session,"

"Anything you want to talk about?"

I pause a beat, before deciding that I do want to talk to him about what's been weighing on my mind. 

"T... I get nervous thinking about our sex life sometimes."

I turn and try to register the look of surprise on his face. 

"Why? Are... Am I not--you know... I-I didn't  _realize_ you weren't--"

"Wait! Tom, god  _no..._ that's not what I meant!" I am blushing badly now, my courage almost sullied. "It's  _you_ that I am worried about. I want to make sure I am being adventurous enough. I mean, it's good... _really good_ , but if there are things you wanted to try," I start to babble, and to my horror, he begins to laugh, his head thrown back, his mirth echoing throughout our bedroom. My face pinches and I feel my stomach drop. I don't give him a chance to say a word as I march out of the bedroom, and down the stairs, my rage oblivious to him tumbling out after me, laughs still falling from his mouth. 

I head into the kitchen and start to organize our supplies,

"Fi! Baby, I am sorry! I didn't mean to upset you," he pleads, a stupid grin still plastered on his face,

"You are such an asshole, Tom!" I yell at him, my face red with embarrassment. "You know how hard it is for me to talk about stuff like that and then you just  _laugh_ at me?"

Tom realizes that he really has wounded me. He approaches me carefully, and reaches out my hand, cupping my face, noting that there are unshed tears brimming in my eyes. 

"Oh my love," he chides gently, "I meant no harm. I just thought that you were so adorable with your silly presumptions." he pulls back and kisses my forehead, "When have I ever given you any indication that I am unsatisfied with our sex life?"

I say nothing, but sniffle indignantly. 

"I thought as much... it is only your  _head_ that is fooling you, baby. Every time we make love is an adventure, Fi, and it's because I am with you. Darling,  _you_ are the first partner that I've had that I've been madly in love with. Sex between us is  _special_ and beautiful. I don't want to buy a fucking book to spice up something that is already so wonderful." 

Realizing that he hadn't convinced me yet, he pulls me closer,

"You make my toes curl, Fi...I've nearly blacked out before! Do you not remember when I almost collapsed in the shower?" his tone makes me laugh. Yes, I do remember that. "There are some days on set that I just  _ache_ for you... I have to have certain 'breaks' in order to get my head on straight. Please don't be worried about where we stand there. You are very special to me, Fiona. You are not my personal fucking doll to do whatever I please with, and I don't really give a fuck. With you it is more than just a climax. It's another level of deep intimacy. Thank you..."

I believe him. He cuddles me close for a brief moment, and kisses me tenderly. 

"Now, let's cook shall we? I'm suddenly eager to be done with this so we can get to bed," Tom winks, and it nearly startles me how handsome he is. 

God, I am so relieved that he is happy. 

_______________________________________________________________

I'm trying to catch my breath and Tom is laughing, his own panting very evident as he tries to pull me back down to him for our post-orgasm cuddle. He  _has_ to do this. I don't mind, and I quite like it. He has really put me through the works tonight. It's a reward for my success tonight in the kitchen. After we had our talk, everything was pretty relaxed. I was nervous once we started to use the stove to cook chicken, but Tom talked me through it and I ended up succeeding. It was a very big moment for me, and was not as dramatic as I originally assumed it would be. There were no tears, and no freak outs. We were just a normal couple making dinner together. 

We ate on the coffee table in the den, and then watched a movie for a good fifteen minutes before Tom hands drifted towards my crotch, and decided that he wanted a different show. He raced me up the stairs where there was massage oils waiting for the promised full body that we'd discussed earlier on as a reward for my success. It had felt so good that I was  _still_ tingling and glowing in the aftermath. He had been very thorough, telling me exactly what I had done to deserve it. 

The experience was sensual, and it was even more gratifying to know that Tom enjoyed himself as much as I did. To know that I satisfied my man felt like bliss.

"Oh my _god_ ," he panted, "holy fucking hell, love."

"That good?"

"God  _yes_ ,"

"Good,"

He holds me tightly against his chest, and kisses my hair.

"I love you so much, and I am proud of you, baby,"

"Thanks for that, T."

His warm chuckle sings me to sleep.

Yes, today was good...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but sweet. Reviews appreciated!

It's very cozy right here, snuggled up in my man's arms. I knew he could dance, he's proven so several times before, but this particular night it was reaffirmed to me that Tom was a smooth bastard. 

"I like this," he murmurs, his fingers playing with the fabric of my dress. It's midnight blue taffeta and it cascades down the floor, covering my bare feet. Tom insisted that I take off the 'skyscrapers' that Emma put me in, and at this point in the reception, no one really cares. I am content to be barefoot and allowing Tom to lead us both in the slow, romantic music drifting through the garden. 

"You look pretty handsome yourself, T," I murmur sleepily, laying my head against his shoulder and inhaling his masculine scent. Today his eyes welled up in tears as he watched his sister marry the man that she loved. It was such a beautiful experience and I think that I've fallen a bit more in love with him if that is humanly possible. 

"Fi, you're tired, my love. Shall we say goodbye?"

I pick my head up and survey the place. The bride and groom have left, having been formally scent off by guests nearly an hour ago. Tom insisted that we stay and mingle with some of his relatives before jetting off to our hotel. Both his mother and father have gone their separate ways already, exhaustion from the busy day creeping up on both. We escorted them out. Diana beamed at me, and gave me a suspicious wink that Tom frowned at. She's been very supportive of the relationship that I have with her son. It's fantastic to have her blessing. Tom's dad is also quite nice. He loves that I am a physician and we bond over physics, which Tom winces at as soon as he realizes what we're chatting about. 

I love his family. 

"I'll call the car," he mumbles, kissing my temple and leading us back to our table where my shoes and handbag linger. There is fresh champagne and I take a long sip before sitting down and refastening my heels. I want to soak in the tub when we get back to the suite. Tom has promised me as much. The tub is large enough to fit the both of us comfortably. At home, we don't really care about whether or not it is practical for the both of us to bathe in the small tub in the master bathroom. It is one of our favorite past-times, and we usually prune up and wait until the water goes cold before getting out. 

In the car, I snooze peacefully in the niche of his neck while he scrolls through Twitter, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing over my shoulder. I'm thinking about how protective he can be. My little problem still inhibits me from being touched. Sometimes I am terrified that Tom will grow complacent, but tonight, as jovial as everyone was, he proved that he still kept those things in the back of his mind, prepared to defend me when needed. It's nights like these that I truly hate that crippling feeling, but I just can't help my apprehension. My skin prickles when I imagine what it might be like for someone to touch me the way that Tom does. When we'd first begun our relationship, I was always on edge with even the slightest caress, and now it wasn't even an after thought.

"Em looked beautiful," Tom murmurs at the top of my head, his phone no longer distracting him. I hum in agreement. "I love weddings,"

"Me too,"

"Fi... do you--would you ever consider marrying me?"

Dead silence radiates through the car. 

"I don't know," I say honestly after a while, not brave enough to look at his face, "I am not sure that I am the kinda girl you want to marry," the small chuckle in my voice indicates that I am trying to down play just how serious his inquiry is. This is an issue that I have discussed with Baker and the whole idea sounds insane. Who would want to marry me? I can hardly cook on a stove without falling into a million pieces, and I wake up in the night and search the house to make sure it is safe. I'm crazy. 

Tom is silent after that, lost in what I presume to be his thoughts.

______________________________________________________________________________

 

We arrive to our luxury suite, and I begin to excitedly strip whilst starting the bath. It had been a long day, and my muscles deserve a good soak. I expectantly wait for Tom to join me in the ritual of shedding clothes. He's been talking about getting out of his tux for hours now. But he doesn't make a move to touch a single article, and when I look at him questioningly, he shakes his head and says for me to go ahead. He's going to shower in a bit. 

I would be a liar if I say that I'm not disappointed. It is not very often that Tom turns me down. Even the smallest rejection festers in my mind as a sort of farewell. It's unhealthy, and I know that. That's why Baker and I have worked together to try and dismantle that way of thinking. I suck in a few breaths and sink into the water. 

'Everything is fine,' I tell myself, thinking about the way his lips curved into a smile against my temple while we danced earlier on. He loves me just as much as I love him. It's a mantra that I have to recite over and over to make sure that I won't go out of my head with self-doubt. 

The bath is good to me. When I finally get out nearly half an hour later, the suds slide from me, and I wrap myself up in a fluffy robe, prepared to apply lotion and then get to bed. We are driving back to London and I want plenty of sleep so I can watch the scenery pass outside of the car window. It's silly, I know, but I love it just the same. We have a date the rest of the afternoon to paint the upstairs bedroom. I don't like the blue. After that we are going to nest in the living room and do absolutely nothing. 

After I am prepped and ready for bed, I expect Tom to walk through the sliding door of our balcony any moment. He's been out there on what I presume to be a business call. He's tired and I want him to relax with me. I frown and slip from the bed, carefully toeing through the room and towards the balcony door where I open it quietly and expect his voice to fill my ears, but I am met with cold silence. Tom sits on one of the chairs, his elbows resting against his things, his large hands covering his face. I automatically feel terror ripple through me. I've only seen him so dislocated once before, and that was the day that Emma had me check in on him. The day we first made love. 

"Tom?" my voice is small and soft. I'm afraid to raise it any higher. He peaks up from his hands, and that's when my heart sinks. There are tear tracks on his face, as well as fresh, glossy tears shinning in his eyes. These are not the same as earlier, when he watched Emma be given away, but these were born from hurt. My throat goes narrow and I cannot formulate enough words to speak in order to comfort him from his phantom pain. 

"I keep asking myself what I can do better," he laughs softly, tears sputtering from his lips, "what can I possibly say so that you'll realize."

"Realize what?" I can't actually say the words. Fear has me in a vice. 

"I don't know... I don't see how else I can make it more obvious. I tell myself that you don't understand the mechanics of a true relationship... this is new to you. I remember the hell we went through early on, and how amazing it felt to get over all of that. We're a team, you and I. Invincible."

His tone scares me. 

"Tom. I don't understand,"

"You think you're disposable," he says into the night. "My beautiful girl thinks that she is no more than... a temporary distraction. Do you know how badly that hurts me, Fiona?" he asks, his voice raising and making me flinch, "I invest everything into your confidence. It's everything to me... and then you talk like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you did in the car."

Oh.

"What is it, Fiona? Why don't you see us? Why can't you see us like I do?" Tears burn in my eyes and rival his, "I'm in love with you. I want to be your husband... I want that to be us..." he refers to Emma and Reg today, "with babies and holidays and so much love that you won't think about how inadequate you feel because you'll know. But you say those things and they make me realize that there is a strong possibility they will never happen."

My stomach drops as he says that, and I cover my mouth with my hands to rein in my ugly sobs.

"I--I didn't...I've never..." I stumble pathetically and wish that Baker was here, "I never thought someone would want me like that," I manage, my voice a hoarse whisper. It's an intimate truth that I would have never reveled before this moment. But something about the defeat in Tom's eyes scares me into a shameful confessions. "I wasn't the girl dreaming about her wedding because I never thought I'd have one!"

I'm angry now. At myself, at my disorder, and at the way my brain forces me to shun all of the good in life. I stand there, and Tom regards me with so much sadness that I want to fall at his feet and weep. Before I can move to comfort him, he stands and then drops in front of me. When I look down, a soft sound of disbelief echoes from my mouth and around the balcony. 

He is on one knee. 

"I was planning on waiting a little while longer. But after tonight, I am going to have to say fuck it." He reaches out for my hand and I continue to stare in surprise, "You are exactly the kind of girl I want to marry....and so much more, Fi. I've been so blessed to be your man, and now I am asking you to let me be your husband. Fiona Boe... please marry me,"

_________________________________________________________________________________

I'm afraid to sleep. When we sleep, we dream, and I don't want this to be a dream. I really don't want this to be a dream.  

He'd bought a ring months ago. He said he knew for a long time that I was the one he wanted to be with forever. I can't help but stare at the sparkling diamond and blink furiously trying to see whether or not this has all been a dream. Tom Hiddleston has asked me to to be his wife, and I've accepted. He knows who I am. I have no secrets. He realizes that I am a mess and a work-in-progress, but he loves me anyway. He wants me...the whole package. 

I still can't believe it. 

He shifts so that his lips can access mine drowsily. 

"Why aren't you sleeping?" he mumbles. I know he is worn out. Originally the plan was to have a bath and sleep the night away, but once I accepted his proposal, he said he wanted to see me in nothing but my engagement ring. One thing led to several others and now I am basking in this warm glow that has kept me up for an hour past the point that he's knocked out. 

"Can't," I reply dreamily, "I'm thinking of all of the ways I am going to get your sister back while planning our wedding,"

He chuckles and it is deep and sexy. 

"Let's wait a while to tell the family, hm? Give Emma some time to enjoy the lime light. Her and Reg deserve it. And I don't want to trade in my beautiful fiancee for some god awful bridezilla just yet," 

The word fiancee make my throat tighten with disbelief and excitement. I grin and kiss his chin. 

"I love you, T."

"I love you too, Fiona girl." We relax into silence for a short moment before his head jerks up and he looks down at me with a sly grin, "you know what I just thought of?"

"What?"

"Paging Dr. Hiddleston,"

His fingers tickle me to tears and soon after I am so worn out that I sleep, too. 

Dr. Hiddleston. 


End file.
